


Redeemer

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunk Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a hot mess. He has endured rejection and judgement, but he can't endure personal loss.He thinks he is lost in the darkness... that is, until a mysterious voice calls out and guides him towards a faint pinprick of light.Will the voice be his redemption, or will his demons thwart his last chance at salvation?





	1. The drowning man

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all!
> 
> Welcome to my first WiP! 
> 
> Initially when I had the idea for this story I pictured it as a long one-shot, but it's run away from me a bit and now I'm thinking it will be at least 5 chapters, if not a few more.
> 
> I promise to try and update regularly! The first couple of chapters will be short-ish, around 3k, but I've no idea how long subsequent ones will be. It's turning into its own beast!
> 
> Huge thanks to my betas Whitney, Kati and Michelle for helping me get this off the ground! Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> I don't make any money off this and I'm taking creative liberties with JK's characters... I hope you enjoy!

**  
  
  
  
  
_Malfoy Manor, Sunday morning_ **  
  
Draco groaned as he regained consciousness.

Everything hurt. His head hurt, his face hurt, his sides hurt, his hands hurt. He experimentally cracked his eyes open and was assailed by the sun streaming in the window, directly in his face. Yep, his eyes hurt, too.

 His mouth tasted like a garbage bin and he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. He tried to roll sideways, and caught a whiff of sour sweat and vomit. Too much for his already roiling stomach, he grabbed for the edge of the mattress, hauled himself over and vomited violently onto the floor. Too exhausted and ill to immediately move once he had emptied the last of his stomach’s contents, Draco let his head hang over the edge of the bed, closing his eyes again against the brightness.

 Behind him, he heard the door open and someone enter the room. “Oh, you’re alive. Just barely.”

 “Shut it, Theo.” Draco muttered, still not moving.

 He heard Theo move around to the side of the bed. “You missed the bucket.” his friend commented, dryly. Draco cracked his eyes open again, wincing against the light, and turned his head gingerly to the side. There was indeed a bucket, and he had indeed missed it. Rather spectacularly, he noticed.

 “Sorry.” Draco carefully rolled over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes.

 Theo snorted. “Don’t apologise to me. It’s your room. I couldn’t give a shit what bodily fluids you deposit on the floor.” He cast a _scourgify_ charm to clear up the mess, then sat down on the end of the bed. “Here. I brought you a hangover potion. Extra strength.”

 “Thanks, mate. You’re a legend.” Draco accepted the potion gratefully, propping himself up slightly on one elbow so he could drink the contents. He sighed in relief as it began to take effect, and sat up fully. He was startled to see Theo staring at him intently. “What?” He said, somewhat irritably.

 “That guy you got in a fight with last night really did a number on your face.”

 Now that that the hangover potion had done its work, Draco noticed again how much he _hurt._ He got up and walked over to the full-length mirror behind his door to examine the damage. His right eye was swollen and bruised, he had a split lip, and his nose was very tender - though it didn’t appear to be broken. He went to lift his hands to his face and winced at the pain in his side. Lifting his shirt gingerly, he shook his head at the rainbow of bruises peppered over his ribs and torso.

 Behind him, Theo whistled. “Your kidneys took a hammering, mate.”

 Draco turned to look, and was surprised at the size of the bruises. Carefully lowering his shirt again, he moved (hobbled, actually - his legs hurt, too) over to a second door, behind which was his ensuite bathroom. He turned back to his friend. “I’m just going to take a shower. And maybe a pain potion.”

 Theo nodded in repose, but said nothing.

* * *

  
In the bathroom with the water running, Draco carefully undressed. Looking at himself properly for the first time, he knew he looked terrible. He was paler than usual, making the swellings on his haggard face stand out even more starkly. The angry network of bruises over his torso and back made him run his hands gingerly over his ribs. Thankfully, there appeared to be no breaks. His legs, although sore, didn’t seem to have taken any visible damage. He sighed deeply, bracing his hands on the edge of the vanity as he eyed his reflection with distaste. “You need to sort your shit out.” He told himself.

 It wouldn’t be the first time he had spoken this mantra. The last year had been a blur for Draco. A blur of drinking himself into stupors, getting into fights or otherwise injuring himself by falling on his face or down flights of stairs, and generally just getting himself into trouble. The Daily Prophet gleefully reported on his many escapades, and he had grown used to seeing himself splashed all over its pages in various states of disarray - often, but not always, with an almost equally dishevelled woman or two on his arm. He would wake on the mornings following, feeling like death warmed up and often with a vague sense of disappointment that death had not, in fact, claimed him. He felt like the proverbial drowning man, floundering in the sea that was his many demons. Would he slip under, or manage to find the strength to keep his head above the surface?

 His life had gone to shit when Narcissa had been murdered.

 His mother had been the one good, constant thing in his life after the Second Wizarding War ended four years ago. His family’s good name had been dragged through the mud, their assets stripped as reparations for their crimes, and they had all been subjected to long and arduous trials. Ultimately, Draco and Narcissa had escaped Azkaban, instead being sentenced only to probation. Lucius, on the other hand, had been sentenced to five years’ incarceration. Eighteen months into his sentence, he had been killed when he was caught up in a brawl between death eaters and other prisoners. Narcissa had been heartbroken and was inconsolable for months, but Draco had barely been able to bring himself to mourn his father’s passing.

 However, despite all their trials and challenges, despite being shunned, reviled and generally considered awful people, Draco and Narcissa had had each other. Mother and son would spend time together in the manor, reading, talking, or spending time in the expansive gardens and vineyards which spanned the grounds.

 Draco broke free from his musings long enough to get into the shower, where he let the scalding water run over him, soothing his aches. His mind drifted again as he thought again of Narcissa, and he felt a pang as he remembered that the previous night had been the anniversary of the day he had laid her to rest. An involuntary sob escaped his chest. A year on, and he still felt the pain as equally as he had on the day he lost her. As he dwelt on her death the emotion welling up inside him became too much, and he could hold back no longer. Dropping to his knees, Draco sobbed under the pounding water, thinking of how much he missed his mother, how her life had been brutally and violently cut short. He mourned all the things they used to do together. Their walks in the garden, their work in the vineyards, their lively debates and their shared love of reading. He recalled the way she would sometimes sing when she was especially happy. She had a lovely, clear voice. Oh, he had loved to hear her sing, especially as a child. Her voice had comforted him in times of sadness, and lifted him in times of happiness. She would sing-

 His head snapped up. She would sing- _that voice. In a bar. Singing in a way that had reminded him immediately of Narcissa._  
  
_“...Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?_  
_Get out of here, and get me some money, too…”_  
  
Who was it? _Where_ was it? He had to know, and now .

* * *

 Theo heard the door open and looked up in surprise to see a wild-eyed, dripping wet, very naked Draco Malfoy standing in front of him and looking positively deranged.

 “Who was she, Theo?!”

 “Who was who, mate?”

 “ _Her!_ The woman! Singing, in the-” Draco frowned. “-I can’t remember where it was. I just remember her voice.” He began to pace, seemingly unaware that he was naked and trailing water all over the carpet. “I need to know who she was! Her _voice-”_

 Theo accio’ed a towel from the bathroom and walked over to Draco, handing it to him.

Draco absently took the towel but continued to pace, holding it limply in one hand.

 Theo put his hand on Draco’s shoulder to stop his pacing, and turned his friend to face him. “What about her voice?”

 “It-it was so like mother’s.” Draco seemed to deflate. Looking down, he finally seemed to notice the towel in his hand and his state of undress. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to his desk, pulling out a chair to sit down.

 “What happened last night, Theo?”

 Theo looked at his friend, pain etched on his face, and sighed. He hated to see him self-destruct like this. He had loved Narcissa too - she had been like the mother he had never had, and he still mourned her. But still - what it had done to Draco had been even worse. He had been keeping up appearances for the three years following the War, but following her death he had fallen apart and Theo had been trying to keep him alive and out of Azkaban ever since.

 “Nothing much out of the ordinary. We went out to a few places, you got standing-up, falling-down drunk, and got into a fight with some guy in the Muggle club we were at. The bouncers hauled your arse out, but you kept trying to get back in, yelling something about having to hear her.” He paused. “Is that what you meant? You wanted to hear the woman who was performing at the time?”

 “I don’t know, I don’t remember the fight, or getting kicked out. I just remember her voice.” He looked at Theo. “Where was it? What kind of club was it?”

 “It was Muggle London. A music club. They played something called-” Theo frowned, trying to remember. “-Blues and Jazz. Whatever that is. It was nice music, though.”

 “I need to go back there.” Draco got up, made his way over to his wardrobe and began rummaging for clean clothes. “I have to find out who she is.”

 “They won’t be open, mate. It’s Sunday.”

 Draco popped his head round the door as he pulled on a clean shirt. “Still, I can go and _look,_ can’t I? Maybe they’ll have a way to contact someone.”

 Theo looked unsure. “I suppose so. Still, you might not get a very warm reception next time they’re open, considering the commotion you caused last night.”

 “I don’t suppose I could just obliviate everyone working there last night?” Draco said, only half joking.

 “I wouldn’t recommend it, Drake. You know how the ministry is with tampering with muggle’s memories. Besides, all those muggle clubs have those video camera things they use for security.”

 “Ahh, bugger. Oh well.” Draco had pulled on some trousers as they were talking and now began to tie up a pair of shoes. “Right! Let’s go. Show me this club.”

 Theo shook his head resignedly. Clearly, Draco was not going to be dissuaded. “Come on then, mate.” The two friends headed down to the foyer. Theo offered Draco his arm, and when he was ready, side-along apparated them both out of the Manor.

 

* * *

   
**_The Blue Jazzist Club, Muggle London, the previous night_ **

 Hermione put the finishing touches on her makeup in front of the dressing-room mirror. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with a few strands flowing loose at the base of her neck and framing her face. She heard three sharp raps on the door. “You’re on in five, luv.”

 “Be right there, Roger!” she called out, turning away to slip on her heels. Her long crimson gown shimmered under the lights as she stood and picked up the elbow-length gloves which completed her outfit. With one last glance in the mirror, she headed out of the room and towards the stage’s back entrance.

 

She had just begun her set when she noticed a commotion toward the back of the club, although she couldn’t see who was involved due to the footlights that illuminated the stage and limited her vision to the closest tables. Not missing a beat, she continued to belt out her routine. The detractors were quickly removed by Larry and John, the bouncers monitoring the the club. She could hear, faintly, one of the men shouting something. She couldn’t make out the words, but a part of her jolted slightly. She seemed to recognise the voice, but damned if she could figure out who it might be. She shrugged it off and let herself get lost in the high she always felt when performing, and before she knew it, her forty-minute set was over. She left the stage to rapturous applause, wolf-whistles and cheers, and headed back to the dressing room to change.

 At the end of the night, when the club had closed for the evening, the club staff and any performers who had stayed on would gather at the bar for a drink and a chat. Rodger, the club owner, believed in having a wind-down period at the end of each night where everyone could relax. He also encouraged anyone to ask questions or bring up any issues they may have encountered over the course of the evening. Hermione, more casually dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, took a sip of her beer and said, “So tell me! What was with the kerfuffle earlier?”

 Larry snorted. “Oh, the usual. Some drunk twat started a scrap with some other bloke. Pissed out of his mind, he was.” The bouncer paused. “Funny thing, though. He stopped trying to punch out everything in his orbit when you started singin’. Just froze. We grabbed ‘im and started hauling his arse outside, and then he started yelling sumthin’ about having to go back, having to ‘hear her sing’. I think he must have wanted to watch your set. We weren’t having none of that though, he was too far gone. We turfed his arse out and his mate turned up from the bogs and hauled him off up the street.”

 Hermione shook her head. “Honestly! What is with some people?” She looked at Larry and John worriedly. “You weren’t injured, were you?”

 “Nah, don’t you worry about us, Hermione. Guys like him are usually too pissed to do any damage to anyone but themselves.”

 Hermione sighed with relief and gathered up her bag and coat. “Right, I’m off home. Goodnight, everyone!”

 John stood up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

 She smiled. “Thank you, that would be lovely.” Although she could apparate to and from the club, Hermione found it safer to do things the Muggle way in order to avoid awkward questions about her means of transport. With a wave to the assembled group, she left the building. She walked in companionable silence beside John as they headed to where her car was parked around the corner. As she arrived at the door, John spoke, musing aloud. “You be careful, now. That fellow from earlier tonight acted strangely when her heard you. Be vigilant, you never know when these weirdos will crop up.”

"He probably won’t remember a thing from tonight if he was as drunk as you say he was.” Hermione smiled fondly at the older man. He and Larry were in their thirties and both fiercely protective of her, like older brothers. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. “Goodnight, John. Thanks for escorting me.” 

“G’night, Hermione.”

As she drove home, she recalled the conversation and giggled. She’d been immediately reminded of Alastor Moody when John had cautioned her to be vigilant. “Constant vigilance!” she barked to herself. She felt sad for a moment, thinking of Moody and the others who had died during the battle of Hogwarts. It had been four years, and she still had days where she would suddenly be reminded of Fred, or Tonks, or Lupin, or Dumbledore. Shaking her head, she continued on. She was shattered, and couldn’t wait to get home and go to bed.

 

* * *

**_The Blue Jazzist Club, Sunday afternoon_ **

 Draco wandered around the entrance to the club, looking for signs of life. The solid oak doors were closed, and no sounds came from within.

 “Do you think the owner might be inside?” Draco asked, staring intently up at the plain brick frontage above the doors as if the man might suddenly float through the wall.

 “I doubt it.” Theo replied. “I don’t think any muggles use these buildings when they aren’t doing business. He’s probably at home.”

 Draco frowned. “Why run a business if you’re not going to be close by? Surely it’s easier to manage if you live near or above it?”

 Theo, who had more experience with the muggle world than Draco, snorted. “This isn’t Diagon Alley, mate. Business owners in the muggle world don’t usually live in the vicinity of their establishment.”

 Draco huffed impatiently in response. “Well, when do you think he’ll be back again? There must be something outlining the hours of operation somewhere.”

 Turning back the the club’s entrance, the two wizards looked for information. Theo soon spotted a small sign posted on a wall alongside the doors saying, “ _Open Thursday-Saturday from 10pm til late.”_

 “Fuck’s sake! Seriously?! What kind of a business is this?” Draco fumed.

 “Easy, Drake. It’s how muggle clubs like this operate.” Theo soothed. “They’re a bit different to your usual pubs and taverns, they cater to the weekend crowd.”

 “But how do they make any money, only being open a few hours at a time for three nights a week?”

 Theo shrugged. “From what I’ve seen, some don’t. There’s a lot of competition out there, so they have to work to become and stay popular or they go under.”

 Draco groaned in frustration. “It’s only Sunday! How will I wait until Thursday?!”

 “I dunno mate, but you’ll just have to try.” Theo clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, we’ll go to the Hog’s Head for a drink. _A_ drink, not all the drinks. I have work tomorrow.”

 

* * *

   
**_Malfoy Manor, Thursday night_ **

 Draco looked at his nervous, pale reflection in the mirror. Would she be there? What would she look like? Could he summon the courage to talk to her? If he did, would she laugh at him? Dismiss him? He abruptly turned away and strode across his room to his desk, where a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler sat. Pouring two generous fingers into the glass, Draco quickly swallowed the amber liquid, shuddering as it burned a trail down his throat and into his stomach.

Decisively, he twisted on the spot, apparating away to muggle London and the Blue Jazzist Club.

* * *

 

**_The Blue Jazzist Club, Thursday night_ **

 “Hey Larry, look.” John pointed down the street, indicating a lone figure striding towards them. “Isn’t that the bloke made a scene last weekend?”

 Larry glanced in the direction John was pointing. “Yeah, it is ‘im. If he thinks e’s coming in ‘ere e’s got a another thing coming.”

 The two men eyed Draco as he approached the entrance to the club, looking nervous but trying to smile.

 “Stop right there, mate. You ain’t coming in ‘ere tonight.” Larry said, stepping in Draco’s path.

 Draco lifted his hands in submission. “”Look, I want to apologise for the other night. I’d had far too much to drink, and I was completely out of order.”

 Larry snorted. “Too right you were, mate. You still ain’t coming in. Boss has a rule, people who cause trouble get banned. This is a nice, quiet club and we want to keep it that way.”

 “I understand that, I do. I promise not to cause further trouble.” Draco tried to keep his voice calm.

 “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t, but if we start making exceptions for one person we gotta start doing the same for other troublemakers. D’ya know what happens when we start letting troublemakers in?”

 Draco shook his head.

 “We start getting a reputation among the less desirable types.” Larry explained. “Once those types start turning up and causing problems, we start to get a reputation among the filth for being a hot spot. Next thing we know, we’ve got bobbies showing up ‘ere doing surprise visits at all hours of the night, trying to catch us out. To top that off, the combination of the undesirables causing problems and the bobbies being here all the time makes our regular patrons nervous, and we start getting a reputation among them for being an establishment which is poorly managed.”

 “It’s bad for business, see?” John chimed in. “The evenin' entertainment scene is volatile. It takes a long time to build a good reputation and a steady clientele, but it can all be undone in a matter of weeks once troubles start. The boss is a good man. He works 'ard, treats his employees right and loves his business. It’s our duty to help him protect it.”

 Draco was beginning to feel desperate. Changing tack, he asked, “What can you tell me about the woman who was singing last time I was here? Will she be back tonight?”

 John’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ”What do you want with 'er? You her ex or somethin'?”

 Eyes wide, Draco shook his head. “No, not at all. I don’t even know what she looks like. I just want to know who she is.” He paused. “Please. Can you tell me anything about her?”

 “I ain’t telling you nothin'.” John said, with an air of finality. “Now bugger off before I kick your arse.”

Draco sighed in defeat. He knew it would be useless to argue further. He would just have to come up with a new plan. “Very well. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I apologise again for my behaviour last weekend.” Without another word, he turned away and walked around the corner to find a spot where he could apparate.


	2. One chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! A big thank you again to my betas Whitney, Kati and Michelle for their support <3
> 
> This chapter was written awhile ago but as I'm aiming to try and release one a week, I was wanting to get a bit ahead of myself in terms of future chapters. It's working so far!

* * *

**  
**  
**_Nott Manor, Thursday evening_ ******  
****  
The floo in Theo’s study roared and he looked up from his desk in surprise to see Draco step through the fireplace, looking despondent.  
  
“Draco. I wasn’t expecting you.” He looked at the clock above the mantle and frowned. “It’s a bit late, isn’t it?”

 

Draco brushed the soot from his clothes and wordlessly walked over to the cabinet housing Theo’s liquor supply, where he poured himself a generous tumbler of brandy.

 

“By all means, help yourself. Make yourself completely at home. No need to explain why you’re here or even say a word, for that matter.” Theo sniped.

 

Draco turned to his friend. “I apologise, I didn’t offer to make you a drink. Shall I pour you one?”

 

“You might as well.” Theo sighed.

 

Accepting the glass Draco handed him, he wanted until the other was seated in a chair opposite his desk before asking, “Right, what’s up? Out with it.”

 

“I went back to the club and tried to get in.” Draco started into his tumbler, looking defeated.

 

“And? They told you to bugger off?”

 

Draco nodded. “They said I was a troublemaker. Me! Can you believe it?!” As the brandy flowed into his stomach, Draco’s sense of wounded outrage was beginning to surface.

 

“Not at all.” Theo replied, dryly. “Draco Malfoy, drunk off his arse and causing a scene like he has so many times previously, a troublemaker? Impossible.”

 

Draco didn’t respond, although he had the good grace to look ashamed.

 

“So? What else did they say?” Theo prompted, after a few minutes of silence.

 

Draco repeated the exchange that had occured between himself and the bouncers. “Who are filth, anyway? Unwashed people? And why would they have so many people named Bobby arrive unexpectedly?” He asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

 

Theo burst out laughing. “They’re referring to muggle police. Filth is a muggle term for the police in general, and bobby is a term referring to a policeman or group of policemen.”

 

Draco nodded in understanding. Abruptly changing tack, he said, “I need you to help me convince the doormen to let me in the club. I _have_ to see her again, Theo. I need to find out who she is.” He looked at his friend pleadingly.

 

Theo sighed in resignation and leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s no point trying to go back tonight, and I’m not available tomorrow. I promised Hannah I’d take her out for a romantic date. She’s been a bit pissed off with me, thinks I’ve been neglecting her lately. I’ve arranged a portkey to a restaurant in Nice, but she doesn’t know that yet.”

 

Draco huffed in amusement at Theo’s revelation. His friend seemed quite taken with Hannah Bones, much to the consternation of Nott Snr’s portrait. More than once, the old man had cursed his son soundly for associating with what he referred to as a ‘lowly half-blood’. As a result, Theo had banished the portrait to the darkest corner of the Nott home, declaring that there it would remain until such time as the remnant of his father pulled his head out of his arse.

 

“You must like her if you’re taking her all the way to France for dinner.” He paused. “Saturday, then?”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Theo leaned forward again and gave Draco a piercing stare. “It’s not going to be easy to convince them to consider unbanning you, but you won’t get anywhere if they think you’re pissed.” He looked pointedly at the glass in Draco’s hand. “So try to stay away from the bottle before we get there, yeah?”

 

Draco nodded, wondering how he could possibly wait another two days.

 

* * *

 

  
**_The Blue Jazzist Club, Saturday night_ **

 

Draco fidgeted nervously beside Theo as they approached the club.

 

“Calm down and keep still.” Theo hissed. “They’ll think you’re on some sort of Muggle drug and they won’t let us in.”

 

Draco stopped fidgeting and looked at Theo with a perplexed expression.

 

Theo waved his hand dismissively as they approached the entrance. “I’ll explain later.”

 

“You again!” grumbled Larry in disgust. “You slow, or something?”

 

Theo interjected first. “Good evening, sir. I’ll be this man’s chaperone for the evening. I am prepared to take full responsibility for him and keep him out of trouble.”

 

John snorted. “ You were with ‘im last week, weren’t ya?” Theo nodded. “You didn’t do a very good bloody job being responsible for ‘im then, didja?” He paused. “He may need a babysitter, but like I told ‘im the other night, he ain’t coming in. Doesn’t matter who’s with him.”

 

“My friend has already recounted the previous conversation he had with you gentlemen. I understand the owner ultimately makes the rules regarding who may enter and who may not?”

 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Larry responded, looking at Theo suspiciously.

 

“Thank you for confirming that. I’d like to speak to him, please.” Theo replied, firmly.

 

“You taking the piss?” John asked, moving closer to Larry. “Why would we bother the boss over some bloke who wants to argue a decision that’s already been made?”

 

“If a potential patron disputes the decision, they can still ask to appeal, can they not?”

 

“Management reserves the right to exclude anyone they choose, without explanation or debate.” John folded his arms and glared at the men in front of him.

 

“All the same, I really would appreciate it if you would just let me speak to him for a few moments.”

 

“OI! What’s the hold up?” Yelled a voice behind them. Theo and Draco turned around to see a small line had formed behind them. Theo turned back to the two bouncers, raising an eyebrow.

 

John and Larry looked at each other and seemed to come to a decision. Signing, John said, “Righto then, I’ll call ‘im. Move outta the way, will you?” He gestured to Theo and Draco to step to the side to allow the people behind them to approach the door. As Larry set to work managing the small crowd gathered at the entrance, John bought a small black box to his mouth and spoke into it. “Hey Rog, you mind coming out front for a tick? No dramas, just two very insistent blokes who want to speak to ya.” He touched his ear, seeming to listen, before making eye contact with Theo and nodding. “Yeah, righto. See you in a minute.”

 

After several minutes a heavyset man of middling height emerged from the entrance. He looked to be about middle age, with small glasses and a neat goatee. He glanced around, spied Theo and Draco waiting to the side of the doors, and walked over to them.  
  
“You the blokes who wanted to see me?”

 

They nodded.

 

The man offered his hand. “Name’s Roger.” Theo and Draco returned the gesture, introducing themselves in turn. Roger took a closer look at Draco, who met his gaze apprehensively. “You look familiar. You been here before?” He looked back over his shoulder at the two doormen.

 

Larry, having ushered the other patrons inside, walked the few steps over to where the small group was standing. “He’s the one we threw out last week for fightin’.”

Roger turned back to Draco and frowned. “I’m sorry, if people cause trouble in the club we decline them re-entry. Surely the lads told you that?”

 

Draco gulped. He had expected this would not be easy, but he was becoming increasingly worried he would not be able to convince any of the men to allow him access.  
“Y-yes sir, they did. Actually, we spoke last on Thursday evening. I had been hoping to apologise and be given another chance, and at that time they explained your policy.”

 

“If you know the policy, what are you doing back here, then?” Roger asked, with thinly disguised impatience.

 

“The gentlemen over there said it was your call who could come in and who couldn’t, so I thought to appeal directly to you.” Explained Theo.

 

Roger looked unimpressed. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that. What makes you think I’ll change your mind just because you appeal to me?”

 

“He was asking about our star vocalist.” Larry chimed in. “Was asking all about her, wanted to know who she was.”

 

Roger looked back at Draco with narrowed eyes. “You her ex, or something?”

 

“That’s what John asked, Rog, but he reckons no.”

 

“If you’re not her ex, why do you want to know about her? Is she the reason you want to come in? I won’t have anyone harassing my employees.”

 

Roger’s suspicious stare was making Draco feel increasingly uneasy. “N-no sir, it’s nothing like that at all. One of the few things I remember of that night is hearing a snatch of her voice. I don’t remember anything of that portion of the night but her voice.” Draco shrugged helplessly. “Her voice, it was-well-” he paused. “Look, do you mind if we continue this conversation privately? It’s of a sensitive nature.”

 

Roger was silent for a minute, looking from Draco to Theo and back again, and Draco was becoming increasingly anxious. Just as he was sure he was going to be turned away, Roger sighed. “Against my better judgement, I’ll hear you out. Come through to my office.” Turning away, he walked back through the entrance and gestured for them to follow.

 

“Want one of us to tag along, Rog?” John called from the doorway.

 

“Nah, I’m sure they’ll behave themselves.” He turned back to look sternly at the two men behind him, who nodded silently in assent. Satisfied, Roger continued on, leading them through a small side door and down a hallway until they reached another door. He opened it and stepped back to reveal a small office, gesturing for them to enter.

 

Draco and Theo surveyed the room. It was cramped and cluttered, and smelled faintly of cigar smoke and cologne. There was a lone chair in front of the battered desk, and Theo nodded silently at Draco to take it.

 

Roger moved around to the other side of the desk and sat down on the tired swivel chair positioned behind it. “I must be mental even entertaining whatever story you’re got for me, but I could use a break from these bloody accounts.” He gestured to some papers in front of him. “Out with it, then. What did you want to tell me that couldn’t be said out there?”

 

Draco paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “Well, I mentioned the singer’s voice. It got through to me because- well- because it reminded me of my mother.” Roger’s brow furrowed and Draco sensed he didn’t understand. “My mother used to sing often. She had a beautiful voice. Your singer reminded me of her.”

 

“So you want me to let you back into the club because our singer reminded you of your mum?” Roger asked, eyeing him dubiously.

 

Realising how thin his previous words must have sounded, he tried to explain. “My mother passed away a year ago. In fact, last Saturday was the anniversary of the day she was buried. She was m-” Draco looked down at his feet, took a steadying breath, and raised his head again to meet Roger’s eyes. “-She did not die peacefully, or of natural causes. The past year has been… difficult. She was all the family I had in the world, and I loved her very much.”

 

Roger, clearly still sceptical, glanced over to Theo as if to verify Draco’s story.

 

“It’s true, sir. She was taken before her time, and Draco has had a tough go of it since. She really did have a beautiful voice.”

 

Roger looked back toward Draco, appraising him critically. He exuded a slight air of desperation, nervously watching Roger’s face while he waited for an answer.

 

At last, Roger sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. “I must be barking mad.” He muttered, more to himself than to the men in the room. Returning hands to the desk and his gaze to Draco, he slowly nodded his head. “All right. I’m prepared to give you _one_ chance-.” Holding his hand up at the sudden excitement that appeared on the blond man’s face, he continued, “-and _only one._ And I have conditions, you understand?”

 

Draco nodded eagerly. “Yes sir, of course. I’m happy to comply.”

 

“Right, then.” Roger started counting off on his fingers as he listed his terms. “You’re not to drink any booze while you’re here. If you try to order any, or try and get any other patron to buy any for you, you’re gone. Don’t turn up here in any condition other than sober. The boys know how to spot someone who’s buzzing, so don’t think you can fool ‘em. No hassling patrons or any of the staff, and that includes our performers. Any complaints about your conduct and you’re done, no arguments. Following on from that, don’t get involved in any shit. You get caught up in something with someone else, I won’t give a toss who started it, you’ll be out on your ear.” Roger stared hard at Draco. “Am I crystal, son?”

 

“Yes sir, absolutely,” Draco replied, relieved. “Thank you. I’m very grateful to you.”

 

Roger nodded impatiently and waved his hand at him, dismissing them both. “Right then, bugger off. I’ve got work to do. She’ll be on at eleven.”

 

Draco got up from his chair, and followed Theo out. The two walked back the way they had come and out into the club’s foyer, where they stood uncertainty for a few moments.

 

“I-I guess we can go in, then.” Draco said nervously. Now that he had passed the first hurdle of being granted readmittance to the club, he found himself anxious and excited at the thought of actually seeing the mystery woman whose voice had captured his attention.

 

“So. Rog took pity on you, did he?” a flat voice spoke from behind them. Draco and Theo turned to see John behind them, looking displeased.

 

“He did, yes.” Draco replied quietly. “Rest assured, I will to comply with the conditions he set down.”

 

“You better.” It was clear the doorman wasn’t convinced, as he stared at Draco with an intensity that made him feel quite intimidated. “I’ve dealt with your sort before. You’re one of those rich toffs who thinks his shit smells better than most.” He raised a finger in warning. “I’ll be watching you. You’re on thin ice, my friend. And I shall be under it when it breaks.”

 

Unsure of what to say in response, Draco simply nodded mutely. With a final mistrustful glare, John turned away and returned to his position alongside Larry, leaving Draco and Theo to venture into the club unhindered.

 

Theo clapped Draco on the shoulder. “Buck up, mate. You’re in! And it’s-” he looked at his watch “-ten minutes until eleven. Let’s go and grab a non-alcoholic drink and grab some seats.”

 

They headed over to the bar and examined the bottles in front of them. The barman approached and Theo asked, “What non-alcoholic drinks can you recommend?”

 

The barman looked at them in mild amusement, seeming to sense how out-of-place they felt. “You lads ever tried a mocktail?” They shook their heads in negation, causing him to grin widely. “Well, you’re in for a treat! I’ll make you our house special. Won’t be a mo’.” Turning back to the row of bottles and glassware behind him, the barman picked up a cylindrical container and scooped some ice into it, before pouring in the contents of several brightly coloured bottles and topping it off with liquid from some sort of nozzle. Draco watched the process with fascination. “What’s he doing?” He murmured quietly to Theo.

 

“This is a muggle way of mixing a drink.” His friend explained. “Usually it contains alcohol, but they can make non-alcoholic ones this way, too. They put everything in the container, put a lid on, and shake it about to mix the contents.”

 

Draco watched, bemused, as the barman did just that. Attaching the lid, he shook the container with a flourish, even tossing it in the air and catching it neatly behind his back. Then, reaching above him, he took down two wide-brimmed glasses resembling a cone turned on its point and placed them on the bar in front of the two men. Removing the lid, he deftly poured the contents evenly between the glasses, not spilling so much as a drop. Draco felt the urge to applaud, though thankfully he managed to suppress it. Instead, he nodded at the barman in thanks and picked up his glass. It was a bright red colour, and rather pretty. He took an experimental sip, and found it both sweet and tart. “It’s good. What is it called?”

 

“A virgin strawberry daiquiri.” came the reply.

 

Theo paid for the drinks and, thanking the barman again, he and Draco moved towards the stage to find seats. The tables closest to the front were already occupied, but Draco spotted a free space about halfway back. Taking their places, they settled in to wait for the next act.

 

Turning to Theo, Draco remarked, “What an odd name for a drink. Virgin strawberry...what was it called?...dack-rey?”

 

“Daiquiri. Yes, these types of drinks are popular, especially among muggle women. They usually have alcohol in them, and those versions are quite potent. The name ‘virgin’ refers to a version of the drink which was no alcohol in it at all.”

 

Draco nodded in understanding at Theo’s explanation, and then frowned. “So the barman gave us _women’s_ drinks?” He felt slightly miffed. “Was he making fun of us?”

 

“I didn’t say they were _women’s_ drinks, I said they were popular with muggle women.” Theo clarified, amused. “Men do drink them too, just not as frequently.” He paused, thinking. “The barman may have been taking the piss a bit, though. I’m pretty sure we stuck out like a pair of sore thumbs. He’ll knew this isn’t our usual type of club.”

 

Draco looked mollified, but only slightly. He was about to speak when the house lights over the stage dimmed, bringing the area into darkness. Draco could see movement as shadowed figures appeared, arranging themselves on a podium where he could faintly make out several instruments. Movement closer to the stage caught his eye, and he saw a faint shimmer as some sparkly clothing caught what little light was shining from further back in the club. He felt his heart begin to beat heavily in his chest as butterflies took up residence in his stomach. The band began to play a smooth tune, and after several beats she began to sing.  
  
_“You had plenty money nineteen twenty-two_ _  
_ _You let other women make a fool out of you.”_

 

Draco swallowed, recognising the song from the previous week.  
  
_“Why don’t you do right, like some other men do..?”_ _  
_ Get outta here, and get me some money, too.”

 

The house lights suddenly came up again, and both men gasped audibly at the woman standing on the stage. She was wearing a sequined sapphire own with a plunging neckline and a slit up to mid thigh. White elbow-length satin gloves, an up-do, dark smokey eyes and red lips completed her look.

 

Draco turned, speechless, to stare at Theo. He mouthed one thing.

  
_“Hermione Granger.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Hermione is singing is "Why don't you do right?" Originally sung Peggy Lee. It's been covered by a range of singers in varying styles. I envisioned Hermione singing in the style of Jaclyn Haydamacha.
> 
> If you're enjoying this so far, please review :)


	3. Unmasked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity for her awesome work!

**_The Blue Jazzist Club, four weeks later_ **

  
Hermione opened the door of the dressing room at ten-fifteen to prepare for her Saturday night set, feeling a mix of apprehension and anticipation.  _ Will there be anything waiting for me? _ she wondered.

 

For the past few weeks, on the nights she performed, she would find a small gift waiting for her. She had received several bouquets of flowers, small items of jewellery, a bottle of wine and a rather beautiful pin for her hair. None of the gifts gave any indication as to who her mystery admirer may be. 

 

Tonight, however, she gasped when she stepped over the threshold. A beautiful floor-length gown hung on a hook opposite the door. It was a deep jade green with plunging neckline and a nipped waist, cinched by a wide satin belt. The pleated skirt was designed to hug the hips and upper thighs before flaring at the knees. Stepping closer, Hermione gently plucked the garment from the hanger and turned it around to discover it was backless. Turning it back to face the front again, she noticed a small tag. Written on the tag was a note. It simply said,  _ “I sincerely hope you will wear this tonight.”  _

 

Indecisiveness flickered over her face as she debated what to do. She could not deny it was a beautiful dress, and the gifter had guessed her measurements almost exactly. She thought it might need a minor adjustment in length, but a quick charm would alter it to suit her height. 

 

However, would it be appropriate to wear the dress? She didn’t know who the gifter was and therefore knew nothing about them. If she wore it, would it send the wrong message? What if the gifter revealed themselves and expected her to spend time with them? How might they react if she declined to interact with him… or her?

 

She looked down at the floor, and it was then that she noticed the shoes. They were strappy stilettos, a slightly darker green than the dress, with sequins decorating the straps. Like the dress, they were absolutely stunning. Slightly too big, but another spell could easily remedy that. And it was far too much.

 

Abruptly, she hung the dress back up on its hook, turned on her heel, and marched out of the room.

 

* * *

  
  
Roger looked up in response to the sharp rap on his door, but before he could speak, Hermione quickly stepped into the room. She looked flustered. “Who has been leaving the gifts?” she burst out, twisting her hands.

 

“Ummmm-” was all he could muster.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know!” she said, incredulously. “They’re being left in the dressing rooms. That area is off-limits to patrons. So either you or another staff member is delivering them on their behalf, or some unknown person is wandering about at the back of the club!”

 

Roger was quick to reassure her. “No. No, nobody is wandering about back there who shouldn’t be. I’ve been putting them in your room.”

 

“And you didn’t think it a little presumptuous that they would deliver a dress and shoes?”

 

Her boss shrugged uncomfortably. “I thought you’d like ‘em. I don’t know much about women’s clothes, but my wife is always showing me dresses and shoes she likes. I took a catalogue into a shoe store last year because they had a pair she said she wanted and asked if they could get ‘em for me, and they did. I gave them to her for her birthday and she was over the moon.” He looked at her worriedly. “Are the clothes not right?”

 

Hermione felt herself smiling slightly at Roger’s efforts to buy his wife shoes, but then sighed in frustration. He was a man and didn’t really understand. “It’s one thing when the man knows the woman and has a comfortable relationship with her, but when they are strangers it’s a little... odd. Gifts of clothes and shoes are-” she paused, trying to think of a way to explain that would make sense to him “-intimate. It’s very forward and, although flattering, somewhat inappropriate. I don’t know this person’s intentions or what message they’ll take if I wear them. I really don’t want to give them the wrong idea, given I don’t even know who they are.”

 

Roger frowned. “I see.” But Hermione could see he didn’t; not really. He was trying to understand, and sensed her discomfort, but he simply didn’t have the ability to see things from her perspective.

 

“I take it you know who this person is, then?”

 

“Yeah, I know ‘im.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable now. “He comes in on the nights you perform, just to hear you sing. Sits quietly about halfway back, listens. Leaves once you go offstage. Doesn’t say much to anyone.”

 

“And he’s responsible for all the gifts?” Hermione clarified.

 

Roger nodded in confirmation. “He brings them to me, then goes to watch your set.”

 

“And he never says anything about wanting you to introduce us, or talks about approaching me?”

 

“Never. He just comes in with whatever he has, asks me politely to deliver it to you, thanks me, and heads out to the main bar.”

 

Hermione looked away contemplatively. “And you say he sits about halfway back from the stage? What does he look like? Does he leave immediately after I finish?”

 

“No, he usually hangs about for ten minutes or so. Like he’s gathering his thoughts, or something. He’s quite tall, dresses neatly, light blond hair.” He looked at her worriedly. “Do you want me to tell him to stop sending you things?”

 

“No.” Decisively, she repeated herself. “No. I’ll confront him myself. I want to know who he is, and why he keeps sending me gifts.” She checked her watch. “I need to get ready. I’ll speak to you again after.”

 

With that, she exited his office, closing the door quietly behind her.

 

“Well, shit,” Roger muttered.

 

* * *

 

  
Roger hadn’t been entirely upfront with Hermione when she asked him if she knew the identity of the man who had been sending her gifts.

  
After that first night, when Draco had discovered who the mystery woman was, he had gone back to Roger’s office. Roger had been surprised to see him again so soon, and found himself disconcerted at the shell-shocked look on Draco’s face. “May I come in, sir?” he asked.

 

Roger had nodded wordlessly, completely baffled as to why the young man who had so earnestly begged for a chance to see the woman to whom the voice belonged now looked like he had seen a ghost. Draco sat down in the chair opposite the desk, fidgeting nervously for a few moments, before blurting out, “I-I know her.” 

 

“I thought you said you didn’t.” Roger frowned.

 

“No, I-” Draco shook his head “-I didn’t know who she was before tonight, but now I’ve seen her perform, I recognise her.” Roger, still baffled as to what was going on, merely looked at Draco questioningly. “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

 

Roger started at this. So the lad really _ did  _ know her. And he didn’t look too happy about it. “Is that a problem?” Roger asked. He was beginning to think allowing Draco to re-enter the club had been a poor decision, after all.

 

“Not at all!” Draco exclaimed. “It’s just that-” he looked down at his hands, and damned if he didn’t look regretful.

 

“Go on, Mr-?” Roger prompted gently.

 

“Malfoy. But please, call me Draco.” He looked up to meet Roger’s eyes again. “We went to boarding school together...” Roger nodded at this, although truthfully he didn’t know anything about Hermione’s schooling. “I-I’m afraid I was-” Draco sighed “-I was rather cruel to her.” 

 

Roger said nothing, though what little warmth he had felt developing for the young man threatened to fade. He loved Hermione like a daughter, and with her kind, friendly nature she was popular amongst the club’s staff and patrons alike. “The truth is,” Draco continued after a moment, “I was quite the intolerable little shit. My family was wealthy and I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle.” 

 

Roger snorted at this; he had suspected Draco was a rich toff unaccustomed to being denied anything. “I figured you were most likely born with a silver spoon up your arse.” He observed dryly.

 

Draco, despite his discomfort, laughed at Roger’s crude but accurate description. “Yes, sir, you would be right. It was wedged quite firmly. I’m amazed I never did myself an injury.” He gave Roger a wry smile, and was rewarded by a snicker from the older man.

 

After a moment’s pause, Draco continued. “My father ruled our household. He loved my mother and never mistreated her, but he was very much the head. His views on people not of similar status to us was-” he paused again, seeming to search for the right word. “-uncomplimentary. Regrettably, I, in my desire to please him, mindlessly accepted and parrotted his views in my youth. This motivated me to be needlessly cruel to Miss Granger, simply because she was from the background my father viewed with disdain.”

 

“I see,” Roger replied evenly. He sat for a moment, thinking. “Am I right to assume you no longer hold these views?”

 

Draco nodded in response. “I was just a stupid kid. A lot of things have happened since school that have made me realise there are more important things in life than your ancestry.”

 

Feeling slightly reassured, Roger asked, “Okay, so what now?”

 

“Well, I’d like to keep coming in and watching her sing. She really does have a beautiful voice. Is that okay?”

 

“So long as you remember the rules.”

 

“Thank you. When does she perform?”

 

“Fridays and Saturdays, 11pm.”

 

Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” Draco got up to leave. He reached the door, then stopped, as if he were trying to come to a decision. Abruptly, he turned back. “Would it be alright if I stopped by to see you next Friday?”

 

“Fine by me,” Roger replied, bemused.

 

Draco had left then, but true to his word he returned the following Friday with a bottle of whiskey for Roger and a small box which he said contained a pair of gloves for Hermione.

 

“I would rather she didn’t know who they were from,” he had said quietly, when Roger had agreed to pass them on on his behalf. “We haven’t seen each other since we finished school, and I imagine her opinion of me has not changed since then. Honestly, I don’t blame her.” He paused, reflecting. “Still, I would like for her to enjoy them, and I suspect if she knew they were from me she would not accept them. I just want to make her smile. I’ve been looking forward to hearing her sing again all week.”

 

Roger had not known quite what to make of this, but he had promised not to reveal Draco’s identity.

 

They had soon settled into a routine. Every Friday and Saturday night, about an hour before Hermione was scheduled to perform, Draco would visit Roger for a chat. Often he would bring a small gift for Hermione as well. The friendship between the two men had blossomed, and Roger had come to enjoy their time together. Draco showed quite an interest in Roger’s vast experience in running a club, and never tired of the many stories the older man had to tell.

 

So when Hermione had burst into his office earlier, flustered and insisting on knowing who the mystery gifter was, Roger knew that the jig was up. Sighing, he checked his watch. He would wait until after Hermione’s set had started, then go out and give the poor bugger a heads-up.   
  


* * *

  
Draco sat quietly at the bar and nodded to Frank, the barman. Hermione was due to come on stage in about five minutes. 

 

Lloyd came over to him. “Evening, Draco. What’ll it be tonight?”

 

“Are there any mocktails I haven’t tried?”

 

Lloyd laughed good naturedly. “You and your mocktails! Nope, you’ve tried all the ones we have.”

 

“In that case, I’ll have the strawberry daiquiri, please.”

 

“Coming right up.”

 

Draco had built up a rapport with Lloyd over the last few weekends. He showed an interest in bartending and the work that went into the job, and he enjoyed sampling different drinks. True to his promise to Roger, he didn’t touch alcohol while he was in The Blue Jazzist, though he readily admitted he strongly craved it. Instead of alcohol, he had slowly made his way through the mocktail list, as well as trying other non-alcoholic mixers. He quite liked a drink called lemon lime and bitters, although the strawberry daiquiri remained his favourite.

 

That first night, after Hermione’s set had finished and she had retreated backstage, he had gone back to Roger’s office in a panic, with Theo trailing behind. Draco had found himself pouring out the story of his and Hermione’s history and his upbringing to the older man, although he had been very mindful of not giving any indication that they were magical. It had proven challenging to explain the situation while appearing to be like any other muggle, but he had managed it. 

 

Roger had been suspicious at first, and then cautiously accepting, for which Draco had been grateful. Since then, he had grown to respect Roger immensely. The man worked very hard at and was passionate about his business, had a wealth of experience and knowledge, was wise, and had a quick sense of humor. His stories had Draco cringing, staring in disbelief and laughing uproariously. 

  
_ My father was truly ignorant,  _ he had thought to himself on more than one occasion.  _ Muggles like Roger are to be admired for their perspicacity.  _

 

Lucius would have looked down on Roger with contempt and considered the business of running a club to be terribly uncultured, but Draco thought it was interesting and recognised the skill and sheer hard work that went into it.

 

Lloyd had finished making Draco’s drink and set it down on the bar. “Thanks, Lloyd,” Draco said with a smile, and moved from the bar to his usual table to wait for Hermione’s set to commence.

 

* * *

 

  
She was about halfway through and he was lost in her voice. She was singing,   
  
_ “ _ _ Sun lights up the daytime, moon lights up the night  _

_ I light up when you call my name, and you know I'm gonna treat you right.” _

 

“Draco!” a voice hissed beside him. 

 

Startled, he turned to see Roger sitting beside him, looking worried. “Roger. Is something wrong?” He frowned.

 

“She knows.”

 

“What do you mean, _ ‘she knows’ _ ?”

 

“Well, she doesn’t  _ know _ . But she came to me insisting that I tell her where you sit and what you look like. I didn’t tell her your name or that you know each other, but she intends to confront you. It-It seems she thought the dress was a bit much.”

 

Draco felt his heart begin to hammer painfully in his chest, and his stomach began to tie itself in knots.  He had been slightly disappointed he wasn’t wearing the dress, but he had half expected her to wear a different article. He was distressed to hear the gift had upset her, and even more distressed that she intended to confront him. He felt the urge to just get up and run from the club. Gods, he needed a strong drink.

 

“What should I do?” he asked.

 

“I dunno, mate. There’s no best option, really. But my advice is to stay and take your licks.” He looked at Draco shrewdly. “Taking off before she can confront you won’t make things any better. You can’t run from your problems.”

 

“What if she hates me?”

 

“Well, that would be understandable, I think you would agree. But maybe this is an opportunity for you to apologise and attempt to make amends properly. You can only hope for the best. Whatever happens, you’ve given it your best shot.”

 

Draco felt himself trembling, his stomach was churning with anxiety, and he felt like he might be ill. Instead, he took a deep breath in an attempt to steel himself. “Right. Right. Thank you for warning me, Roger.”

 

The owner clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, mate. Come and see me after, if you want.” He headed back into the depths of the club, leaving Draco to his swirling thoughts as he waited for Hermione’s set to finish, and the inevitable confrontation that was to follow.

  
  


* * *

 

  
After Hermione had confronted Roger regarding the mystery gifter, she headed back to the dressing room to finish getting ready. She kept glancing uneasily over at the dress and shoes, as if they might rise up and attack her at any second. She changed into her gown and sat down at the vanity to apply her makeup, but she could see them out of the corner of her eye. 

 

All the while, her mind kept running over the last few weeks.  _ Who was this person? How long had they been watching her? What was their intention?  _ Why _ would they think it appropriate to gift her a dress, anyway? _ She sighed. It was a pity; it really was beautiful, and would fi- 

 

“Ahh,  _ fuck _ !” She had glanced back towards the dress as she was trying to apply liquid eyeliner, and it had gone into her eye. To make matters worse, she had dragged the brush along her cheekbone when her head jerked in response, leaving a big black smear.   
  


With her injured eye smarting, Hermione fumbled for her makeup wipes to clean the eyeliner from her cheek before standing up and striding over to where the dress hung. Snatching it off the hook, she opened the door to a small storage cupboard and unceremoniously shoved the hanger which held the dress onto the crossbar installed near the top. Shutting the door firmly, she turned and made her way back over to the vanity to repair her makeup properly.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was onstage. The band played on behind her as she belted out the lyrics to “ _ Fever _ ”, one of her favourite songs. Despite the fact the lighting over the stage made it impossible to see further back into the club, she caught herself straining to see the audience, looking out for blond hair which might be the tall, well-dressed mystery gifter. Distracted by movement further back, she felt her voice hitch slightly and mentally slapped herself. 

 

_ Get a hold of yourself! You’ve got a job to do! _

 

Accustomed to giving her best effort to everything she did, she was cross with herself for letting her preoccupations intrude on her routine. Determined to carry out the rest of her set without further lapses, she forcefully pushed the thought of the mystery blond to the back of her mind. 

* * *

 

  
She weaved her way determinedly through the tables, her eyes scanning the patrons sitting at the tables. She was still in her stage clothes, not willing to waste time getting changed and potentially missing the mystery gifter. She saw a flash of blond under the dull lighting off to her right, and turned in that direction. As she approached, the figure seemed to shrink slightly into his chair. She stopped before the table and gasped in recognition.   
  
“ _ Malfoy?” _

* * *

  
  


Draco had managed to get through her set, and watched her with growing apprehension as she descended the front steps of the stage and began making her way through the tables. Her head turned, looking for the person who had been leaving her gifts. Looking for  _ him. _ She looked in his direction, and started moving toward him with purpose. He unconsciously tried to make himself smaller, hoping futilely that she wouldn’t see him. As she got closer, he fought the overwhelming desire to run. She stopped in front of him and, seeing the look of shock on her face, closed his eyes.

 

_ “Malfoy?”  _

  
He had finally been unmasked. Draco forced himself to open his eyes and look at her. “Hello, Granger.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is well and truly busted!
> 
> What do you think is going to happen between them now that Hermione knows his identity?


	4. Hello darkness, my old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta CourtingInsanity for your skilled eye and feedback! <3

“Hello, Granger.”

 

Hermione looked at the blond man in disbelief as he greeted her. Draco _sodding_ Malfoy. Arrogant, cruel, cowardly, one-time ferret, and all-around prat, Malfoy. The boy who had teased and despised her throughout their school years, who had let himself be controlled by Voldemort and his followers, whose actions had contributed to the death of Albus Dumbledore and allowed Death Eaters to invade the school.

 

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

 

He looked flustered, unsure, and trapped. She was surprised, but remained on her guard. “I-” Draco glanced around, trying to think of an explanation. “I came here to enjoy the music.”

 

Hermione scoffed. “ _You?_ Here, at a mu-” she caught herself just in time, conscious that they might be overheard “-at this kind of club? It really doesn’t seem like your scene, Malfoy.”

 

Despite being initially intimidated, Draco felt slightly indignant at this accusation. “How do you know what is and isn’t my scene, Granger?” he asked tightly.

 

“I’d say six years of hell at school would leave me fairly well disposed to make an educated guess. And I’m afraid to say, this environment-” she gestured to the room at large with one arm “-is not the type I would expect you to be likely to come anywhere near, let alone enter willingly.”

 

Draco sighed. Despite his annoyance at her quick judgement, she was right. And he had already known he should not expect a warm greeting or an open mind from the witch who he had so cruelly bullied during their years at Hogwarts. “I understand why you would think that.” She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, hands on her hips. “I truly do. I’ve been coming here for several weeks now, to hear you sing.”

 

Hermine let out a cynical laugh. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

 

“Because you have an enchanting voice.” He said simply. At her baffled expression, he said, “Please, won’t you sit down? Can I buy you a drink?”

 

His offer reminded her why she had ventured into the crowd to begin with.

 

“Buy me a drink…? Haven’t you bought me enough?” At his guarded expression, she confirmed, “It _was_ you sending me things, was it not?” He nodded mutely. “No, I don’t think I will sit down. And I don’t require a drink.” Shaking her head, she continued. “I simply don’t understand how you came to find this club, or why you have been sending me gifts.” She realised she sounded a bit rude, and although she despised the ferret, she could not abide rudeness. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. They have all been lovely. It’s just a bit of a shock to realise they were from you, given our history.”

 

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you,” Draco replied, finally finding his voice. “But as hard as it may be to believe, I’m not the same prat I was in school.” He huffed deprecatingly. “Well, I’m still a prat. Just not the same prat.” Her mouth twitched slightly upwards at his quip. Feeling encouraged, he continued. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds with the gifts. Were they inappropriate?”  
  
Hermione looked down at her feet, and then up again. Shifting uncomfortably, she said, “The dress. It was-”

 

“Too much?” he finished, looking downcast and regretful. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offense. I just thought it would look lovely on you.”

 

She didn’t know what to make of this new Draco. He seemed nervous, intimidated, unsure of himself. It was so out of character compared with the Draco Malfoy she had known previously that it discomfited her. Even during the trials following the battle of Hogwarts, when he and his family had been before the Wizengamot, the blond wizard had maintained his cold, confident exterior.

 

 _Is it all an act?_ her suspicious mind wondered. _Part of some elaborate prank?_

 

She couldn’t think of any reason why he would have an ulterior motive or poor intentions, but regardless, she could not help but be suspicious of his presence.

 

“How did you even know my size?” she asked. “Surely you didn’t just _guess?_ In my experience, most men aren’t particularly knowledgeable when it comes to women’s clothing.”

 

She thought back to Ron and Harry and their complete lack of understanding regarding women’s fashion. She and Ginny had tried to take the boys shopping with them once. It had been quite disastrous. Ron had pointed out awful dresses which would not have been at all flattering, and were definitely the right colour, and when she tried to explain shades and cuts to him, he had shrugged and said, “I dunno, ‘Mione. They all look the same to me.” Harry, meanwhile, had made Ginny extremely cross when he declared every item she tried on to be “nice.”

 

Draco smiled wryly. “Actually, I did guess. I grew up being regularly instructed in contemporary fashion,” he said. “I learnt about how to choose the right clothing for the right occasion, for both men and women. As a result, I have become adept at correctly selecting items of clothing which would fit and flatter any wit- any woman.” He looked around guiltily. It was much harder pretending to be just another muggle when he was in a public place where others might overhear.

 

Hermione pretended not to notice his slip. His explanation seemed credible enough; from what she knew of Pureblood Wizarding families and their traditions, she could imagine all of the children being subjected to trivialities such as _“...the right clothing for the right occasion.”_.Still, it was a bit much. “I’m not sure I can accept it,” she said hesitantly.

 

Happy that she seemed to accept his explanation, Draco countered, “Please. Keep it. Unless-” his face fell. “Was it not to your taste? Inappropriateness aside, I mean?”

 

“N-no, it was- it _is-_ lovely. I’m just not sure I can accept such an extravagant dress.” She suddenly remembered the footwear. “You even got me shoes to go with it. It’s too much.”

 

“If you like them, keep them. Please.” She continued to look unsure. “I’m afraid the style wouldn’t suit me as well as it would you, and the shoes won’t do at all,” he joked.

 

That little twitch at the corners of her mouth, again. He found it strangely endearing.

 

“I-I’ll think about it.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at Draco. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

 

“You’re welcome. You don’t mind if I keep coming?” he asked, worry evident in his eyes. “If you’re uncomfortable with me sending you gifts, I’ll stop.” When she didn’t say anything, he hurried on. “I truly didn’t mean to cause offence. I knew if you knew that it was me you wouldn’t accept them. I simply wanted to compliment you in the only way I could without revealing myself.”

 

“As much as I appreciate your thoughts, perhaps that would be for the best.” She sighed. “You’re right, I do find it uncomfortable, given the circumstances.”

 

“But you don’t object to me coming to hear you?”

 

She sighed again. “It’s not really my place to stop you.”

 

“Thank you,” he replied, quietly. “Can I talk to you again?”

 

He looked hopeful, but Hermione simply couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Fidgeting and uneasy, she replied, “I-I don’t think that would be wise.” She felt a pang at his crestfallen, slightly hurt expression, and her resolve momentarily wavered. _Could she-?_ No. She didn’t think she could. Her previous experiences of him would make any encounters uncomfortable at best, and acrimonious at worst. Best just to avoid interacting with him altogether.

 

An uncomfortable silence passed between them.

 

After a few moments, Hermione remembered she was still in her stage clothes. “Um-well. Thank you for the gifts. Please excuse me, I need to get changed.”

 

He nodded. “It’s about time for me to leave, anyway.” He stood up. “Well… goodnight, Granger.” Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit, leaving a confused and still slightly miffed Hermione standing in his wake.

 

* * *

  
  
Draco left the club as quickly as he could without raising suspicion, the last of his nerve gone. With a backward wave of his hand to Larry and John at the door, he walked down the street and round the corner to a secluded area where he could safely disapparate.

He apparated home, arriving in the foyer of Malfoy Manor and went straight upstairs to his study. Bursting through the door, he almost ran to the liquor cabinet in the corner. He snatched up a bottle, poured a generous amount of firewhiskey into a tumbler and lifted it to his lips, his hands shaking, before swallowing the contents in one go. Shuddering at the feel of the alcohol burning its way down into his stomach, he poured another.

 

Setting the bottle down roughly, he walked over to the fireplace opposite his desk. Above the mantel hung a large mirror, and he stared contemplatively at his reflection as he held the tumbler in his hand. The mirror-Draco was pale, much paler than usual, and his eyes were haunted, sad, and defeated. The expression on his face was one of dejection. After a few moments, the mirror-Draco curled his lip in a sneer.

 

“What were you thinking, you bloody fool? That she’d just accept your being there and agree to talk to you, like you were a normal person? You’re worthless to her. Less than worthless. She looks at you with disgust and hatred, just like everybody else. Why even go back? She doesn’t want you there.”

Draco swallowed the second glass of firewhiskey in one swift motion, then went back to retrive the bottle. Picking it up, he considered the tumbler in his hand for a moment before placing it back on the shelf and carrying the bottle over to his desk. All he could think of was escaping into the darkness, something he considered a friend.

 

Sitting down in the leather chair, he swigged directly from the bottle. He regarded the mirror-Draco bitterly, and the mirror-Draco regarded him bitterly in return.

* * *

 

**_Malfoy Manor, Sunday morning_ **

Theo Flooed into the Manor. They had arranged to meet for lunch and to discuss the upcoming quarterly St Mungo’s shareholders meeting, as Theo had newly been appointed to the board. He had managed to keep his reputation fairly intact after the war due to his neutrality, and with Nott Sr dead, leaving Theo the only surviving heir, the younger Nott had spent considerable time and money working to improve and expand St Mungos and its services. One of the older board members had retired several months ago, and in thanks for his efforts, he had been offered and subsequently accepted the vacant seat.

 

“Draco…? Draco!” He sensed no movement and received no response, causing him to frown in concern. “Pria!” he called.

 

With a small pop, a house-elf appeared beside him. She was wearing a floral pillowcase and a small white pinny. “Good morning, Master Nott. You is here to see Master Malfoy?”

 

Theo nodded. “Is he here? We were supposed to meet for lunch and to go over a meeting agenda.”

 

Pria looked uncomfortable. “Master Malfoy is in his study. He sleeps.”

 

“Sleeps?” Theo felt his stomach drop. “Has he been drinking all night?”

 

Pria nodded sadly.

 

“What happened? He’s been doing really well lately.” It was true - since Draco had been granted re-entry to the club where Hermione sang, he had cut back drastically on the drinking. Although he still drank heavily during the week, he had not been blackout drunk since then, as had been his regular custom prior.

 

The elf shook her head. “Pria does not know, sir. Master Malfoy came home last night, most distraught. He went straight to his study and did not come out again.”

 

Sighing, Theo turned towards the stairs. “I’d better go in and see to him. Can you bring a hangover potion, please? Extra strength, if you have it.”

 

“Pria will bring.” With another small pop, the elf disappeared, and Theo headed upstairs.

 

* * *

  
  
“Draco! Draco, wake up!”

 

“Huh?” Draco could feel someone shaking him and calling his name. The shaking was rattling his brain most unpleasantly. “Gerroff, will you?” he mumbled.

 

He slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his head and grimacing at the taste in his mouth. Squinting, he saw Theo looking at him in concern. Suddenly, he remembered. “Shit. Sorry Theo, I completely forgot.”

 

Sending movement to his right, he gingerly turned his head to see Pria holding a hangover potion out to him. “Thank you, Pria,” he said gratefully, taking the vial from the elf. Uncorking it, he quickly swallowed the contents.

 

“Will Master Malfoy be requiring anything else?”

 

“Just some water for me please, Pria. And whatever Theo would like.”

 

The elf looked expectantly at Theo.

 

“Tea will be fine, thank you Pria.”

 

She nodded and snapped her fingers. A tray holding tea, milk, sugar, a cup and saucer, a decanter of water and a tall glass appeared on the desk.

 

“Thank you, Pria. That will be all for now.”

 

She nodded at the dismissal and disappeared again, leaving the two men alone.

 

Theo sat down heavily in the chair opposite the desk, and appraised his friend. An almost-empty bottle of firewhisky sat to one side. He observed the lack of a glass, and knew it must have been serious.

 

He prepared his tea and picked up the cup and saucer before speaking. “What happened last night, Draco?”

 

“She found out it was me sending the gifts.”

 

“I see. I take it this revelation wasn’t well received?”

 

Draco laughed humorlessly. “You might say that. Although, I suppose it could have been worse. She didn’t expressly forbid me from going back.”

 

Theo said nothing, simply waiting for him to continue.

 

Draco debated not saying anything more, then ended up retelling the previous night’s events anyway.

 

“So that’s that.” Draco shrugged as he concluded the tale. “She knows who I am, and she’s not happy. She doesn’t want anything to do with me and would rather I wasn’t there at all.”

 

“What are you going to do now? Will you go back next week?”

 

“No. I don’t think so. If I’m there, it will just make her uncomfortable, and I don’t want to do that. I’ll… I’ll find something else to occupy my time.”

 

Theo worried about what that ‘something else’ might be. He strongly suspected it would involve several long conversations between Draco and numerous bottles of liquor. His friend was lost, and he didn’t want to see him get swallowed by the darkness again. Not just when it looked like he might find his way out.

 

“Just give it time, yeah? Don’t give up just yet.” He looked at Draco pleadingly.

 

Draco didn’t fail to notice the double meaning behind his friend’s words. He read the concern on his face. Still, he wondered, why shouldn’t he give up? What had he to look forward to now? What motivation had he to try and do something other than sink below the surface of a bottle? After all, the Wizarding world cared not a jot for Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and sometimes-blood traitor.

 

Realising that his dark thoughts were consuming him again, but not wanting to upset Theo further, he nodded and tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace of pain, as if the very act hurt him. Still, Theo seemed to relax slightly.

 

 _I can keep up appearances for a few hours,_ he thought to himself.

 

Outwardly, he brought his hands together. “Right. Shall we discuss the upcoming meeting? What is on the agenda that you want to address?”

 

Theo looked startled, as if he had momentarily forgotten why he had come, but then he reached into his robes and pulled out a roll of parchment. “I want to focus on point five, which covers the upcoming budget allocations. I want to try and convince the other shareholders we need to invest further in research.”

 

Draco nodded. “An area that always seems to be overlooked.” He reached for the parchment and began to read. After several minutes he placed it down, feeling a purpose and drive which he was thankful for. He was glad for this distraction, any distraction, which would keep the dark thoughts from seeping in and threatening to overwhelm him.

 

* * *

 

**_The Blue Jazzist, the following Saturday, ten fifty-five pm_ **

 

“Hey Larry, John. You lads seen Draco tonight?”

 

“Nah, he hasn’t been in, Rog,” Larry replied.

 

“It’s not like ‘im to not show up at all. D’ya think ‘e’s ill?” John wondered.

 

Over the time Draco had been visiting the club, he had built up a rapport with everyone, even John - who had at first been convinced he would never like the blond man and that sooner or later he would end up causing more trouble. But after several weeks had gone by without incident, and with Draco making what was clearly a sincere effort to be cordial to everyone, his opinion had thawed. He had been bemused to see the friendship between Draco and Roger grow, but John had figured it was a good sign and left it at that.

 

Now he could see Roger was worried, although he tried not to show it.

 

“Ahh, it’s one weekend,” Larry said, trying to be reassuring. “Maybe he’s just taking some time out, giving Hermione some space.”

 

After Hermione had confronted Draco the previous weekend, she had confronted Roger regarding his involvement. It had been awkward. Somehow it had all come out that the two had stuck up a friendship, and she had struggled to accept this. Nevertheless, Roger meant a great deal to her and she did not wish to alienate him, however strongly she disliked the ferret.

 

Roger tried and failed to look nonchalant. “You’re right. I’m sure he’s just caught up with something else this weekend.” He turned and walked slowly back into the club.

* * *

 

  
Larry and John were getting ready to close the doors. The last of the patrons had been escorted out and most of the staff had finished the cleaning and gone home, leaving only Lloyd behind the bar and Roger dealing with the night’s take.

 

Hearing footsteps, Larry turned to see a group of half a dozen men walking towards them. “Sorry gents, we’re closed. Come back next week, yeah?” The group kept advancing and he glanced at John, who was already alert. “Rog,” Larry spoke quickly into his radio. “I think we’ve got trou-” He was unable to finish his sentence as the group suddenly rushed him, knocking him down before he could react.

 

* * *

 

  
**_Malfoy Manor, the next day_ **

 

“Draco? Draco!”

 

Draco slowly regained consciousness, groaning at the pain in his head and the brightness in the room. Following his confrontation with Granger the previous weekend, he had slipped back into his old habit of drinking himself to sleep most nights. He had not been back to the club, unable to bear the thought that she would be disapproving of and uncomfortable with his presence.

 

“Draco? Where the bloody hell are you?” He heard the voice getting closer, accompanied by growing footsteps.

 

Theo poked his head around the door of the study. “Do you ever sleep in your room any more? Or have you moved in here?” A twinkle caught his eye and he looked in that direction to observe glass all over the rug in front of the fireplace. Looking up, he saw the mirror which hung above the mantel was broken. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall...” he quipped.

 

Draco frowned in confusion. “What?”

 

“Never mind. It’s from a Muggle book Hannah showed me. Did you have a disagreement with the mirror?”

 

He had, in fact. He had become altogether sick of mirror-Draco sneering and glaring at him, and had ended up throwing the tumbler in his hand at the glass so he would not have to look at himself any more. Instead of admitting this, however, he glanced at the clock above the door. “It’s a bit early for a visit, isn’t it?”

 

Sweeping his eyes over his desk, he was relieved to see a hangover potion already sitting to the side. Once its effects had kicked in, he looked back at his friend and was immediately concerned by the grim expression he wore. “Theo. What’s wrong?”

 

“You’d better read this, mate.” Theo handed him a folded over newspaper.

 

Draco picked it up, observing it was a Muggle edition.

 

**_“Violent armed robbery at jazz club in London_ **

 

 _A jazz club in central London became the subject of a vicious armed robbery in the early hours of this morning._  
_  
_ The Blue Jazzist was about to close for the night when an unidentified group of men forced their way into the premises after attacking the two bouncers on the door.

 

_The bouncers were viciously beaten and both have been admitted to hospital where they remain in a serious condition._

 

_The group appeared to have been after money and alcohol, and took large quantities of both after threatening the barman and owner, who were the only two people remaining inside the building._

 

_The total financial losses have not been disclosed, but it is thought to be a considerable sum.”_

 

Draco looked up, his eyes burning with anger. “Can you find out who they were?”

 

Theo shrugged. “I can try, but there’s no guarantee.”

 

Draco got up and began to pace. “The article says only the owner and barman were inside. Hermione must have left already, Thank Merlin.” He went to a set of robes hanging from a hook beside the door, where he retrieved his money bag. “I’m going to try and help.”

 

“Draco!”

 

He turned impatiently in the doorway.

 

“Make sure you exchange your galleons for muggle money.”

 

Draco looked down at the pouch in his hand. “Oh. Erm. Right. Thanks, Theo.” Without another word, he rushed down to the foyer and apparated away.

 

* * *

 

  
**_The Blue Jazzist, late Sunday morning_ **  
  
Draco arrived at the entrance to the club to find a lone muggle policeman standing in front of the door, who immediately moved forward to block his path.

 

“I’m sorry sir, this is a crime scene and you’ll need to move along.”

 

“I’m hoping to speak with the owner, please?”

 

“He isn’t giving any more statements to the media. Move along, please.”

 

 _Media? What’s that?_ Draco wondered.

 

“No, he’s a friend of mine.” The policeman looked at him distrustfully, clearly not believing him. “Please…I heard of the robbery and I’m worried about him. My name is Draco Malfoy. He’ll confirm our connection.”

 

The policeman looked like he was going to say no, and Draco considered using a quick bit of magic to push him along. After a minute, however, he said, “Wait here, Mr Malfoy.”

 

He walked back to the door, opened it, and stuck his head in. “Mathers!” He paused a moment. “Come out here a minute.” The policeman stepped back from the door again, allowing a second to step through. He gestured to Draco and said, “This gentleman says he knows the owner. Go and ask him if he’s familiar with a Mr Draco Malfoy, will you?”

 

The second policeman nodded and went back inside, leaving Draco waiting anxiously. The first policeman watched him closely the entire time.

 

After several minutes, the door opened and Roger stepped out. “Draco! Where have you been this last week?” He moved over to Draco to clap him on the shoulder in greeting.

 

“I’m terribly sorry, Roger. I had… other business I needed to attend to.” He looked down momentarily before meeting the owner’s eyes. “Never mind me, though. I’m more concerned about you. I read about the robbery.”

 

Roger looked grim. “Come on inside, son. I’ll fill you in on the details.” He looked over at the policeman. “He’s with me, alright?”

 

The policeman nodded before making eye contact with Draco. “Please refrain from touching anything and don’t get in the way of the officer inside,” he warned. Draco nodded in assent before following Roger into the building.

 

They made their way to Roger’s office and sat down.

 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Draco said fiercely.

 

Roger sighed. “There were six of them. They waited until we were closing and jumped Larry and John before they could react, then rushed in to the main bar and threatened Lloyd. Four of them kept him pinned down while the other two found my office, forced their way in and demanded all the money I had in the safe.” He stopped and looked at his hands. “What could I do? There were two of them and it was just me. I didn’t have anything to fend them off with. I had to let them take it. Once they had the money, they were off back into the bar to clear us out of booze. All of them had weapons under their jackets and were carrying backpacks, there was nothing we could do to stop them.”

 

“Were either of you hurt?” Draco asked.

 

“No, Lloyd and I were unharmed. It was Larry and John who copped it.”

 

“And how are they doing?” he enquired.

 

Roger looked defeated. “Larry has a broken jaw, three cracked ribs and a broken arm. John has a dislocated shoulder, two black eyes, a broken nose and his leg is broken in two places.”

 

“Their recovery time?”

 

“The doctors say Larry will be out of action for at least six weeks. John is looking at closer to two months, depending on how his shoulder and leg heal.”

 

Draco was horrified. _How the hell do muggles get along without magic?_ he wondered.

 

Of course, he couldn’t very well ask this question of Roger. Instead, he said simply, “I want to help.”

 

Roger smiled sadly. “That’s kind of you, Draco, but I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

 

“Please. You’ve been a good friend to me, and I don’t want to see your business suffer.” He took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t think me too impertinent if I ask you what the financial impact of this robbery will be on the club?”

 

Roger shook his head. “You don’t mince your words, I’ll give you that.” He looked down at a piece of paper in in front of him, then back up at Draco. “The take was for the whole weekend, about two and a half thousand pounds in total. They made off with three or four bottles of top shelf liquor each, worth about eight hundred pounds. If I want to stay open, I’ll need to find a couple of good blokes to cover the door, but I can’t afford to pay temps what I pay the boys. I just don’t have the budget.”

 

Draco nodded. “Let me help you with your costs. Please.”

 

“I couldn’t ask that of you. Besides, I have insurance. Hopefully, they’ll cover some of it, minus the excess.”

 

That didn’t sound good enough for Draco. He tried again. “Please Roger, I insist. Let me replace the alcohol and your take. I can’t do much about what happened, but I can do this.” He thought for a moment. “And I have some friends who may be willing to help you on the door until Larry and John come back. If I ask them, I’m sure they’ll agree to help.”

 

Roger shook his head. “I’ll manage. It just wouldn’t be right to take advantage like that.”

 

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage. I _want_ to help. You’ve been a good friend to me, and in the last few years I’ve learned that good friends are few and far between.” He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a fold of bills, which he laid on Roger’s desk. “There’s four thousand pounds here. Take it.”

 

Roger tried to hide the emotion he felt at the gesture. Nodding, he reached out to pick up the money. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “But only a loan, you understand? I’ll pay you back once I get back on track.”

 

“No.” Draco was firm. “It’s a gift. If you try and pay me back, I shall be insulted.” His lips quirked in a small smile. “You don’t want to upset the toff, do you?”

 

Snorting back laughter at the quip, Roger looked at Draco and smiled. “Thank you again, Draco. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

 

“It’s the least I can do. I’ll talk to my friends and organise some cover for you. Don’t concern yourself with paying them. I’ll take care of that.” Moving to stand, Draco asked, “Where can I find Larry and John? I’d like to check on them.”

 

Roger gave him the hospital and room number, and Draco nodded his thanks before farewelling his friend and leaving the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a lot certainly happened in this chapter!
> 
> Please review!


	5. Sandalwood with a hint of vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity X
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far and is following - your feedback and support keeps me inspired!

**_St Thomas Hospital, Muggle Longdon, Sunday lunchtime_ **   
  
Hermione rushed up the hallway of the hospital. She had woken late and been horrified to read about the robbery in the paper. Calling Roger in a panic, she had first established that he and Lloyd were unhurt before asking about Larry and John. She had cried softly when Roger described the seriousness of their injuries. After getting off the phone with Roger she had called the hospital to find out the visiting hours before heading straight there. 

 

Now, as she approached the room where the duty nurse had told her the two men were staying, she saw a door ahead of her open and a man stepped out into the hallway. She stopped short as she recognised him.

 

“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” She looked past him and saw he had exited the room Larry and John were staying in, and eyed him suspiciously. “What were you doing in their room?” 

 

He looked taken aback and slightly hurt at her mistrust. “I heard about the robbery. I went to check on Roger first, and asked where Larry and John had been admitted. I’ve just been visiting them. I wanted to see the situation for myself.”

 

Hermione wasn’t convinced. Deep down she knew she was probably overreacting, but she couldn’t help but question his every motive. After all, he had been watching her the last few weeks without her knowledge, despite knowing she wouldn’t welcome his presence if she knew about him, right?

 

She realised he was looking at her closely, and she was suddenly self-conscious. She’d rushed out of the house quickly after speaking with Roger. Was she fully dressed? Did she have something on her face? Her hair was probably more of a fright than usual. Nervously, she ran her hands over her face, before combing her fingers through her hair.

 

“They’re not in fantastic shape, but the healer in the white coat says they should recover with no lasting problems,” Draco said. “I’ll leave you to it. Take care, Granger.” He moved past her and started towards the exit.

 

“Malfoy.” He stopped, just out of arm’s reach, and turned back toward her. “The doctor.” He looked confused. “A muggle healer in a white coat is usually referred to as a doctor,” she explained quietly.

 

He nodded in understanding. “Thank you.” Turning away again, he resumed his steps. Hermione watched him go, feeling a mixture of disquiet, bemusement and… she couldn’t quite place the third emotion. He walked tall and straight, with his head high. His suit was perfectly tailored, giving him an air of professionalism and quiet authority, as if he were an accomplished businessman. Shaking her head, she turned back to the doorway, knocking softly before entering.

* * *

  
Draco had initially felt slightly put out at Hermione’s reaction to his presence, but reminded himself she had no reason to trust him, and her reservations were entirely justified. Putting his feeling to the side, he had examined her features with concern. She looked distraught. Her eyes were slightly puffy, as if she had been crying, and her face was pinched with worry. He knew how close her friendship was with the two bouncers, and he could imagine how much it would have distressed her to hear of the robbery and their injuries.

 

He had tried to reassure her, having talked to the healer - no,  _ doctor, _ he reminded himself - before going in to see Larry and John. He had asked what costs would be involved in their treatment, intending to cover their expenses, and the woman in the white coat had looked at him strangely before saying there would be no cost. He had thanked her before excusing himself to check on the two men.

 

“Come in!” came the response to his knock. Draco had opened the door to reveal a moderately sized room with four beds. The two on his left were unoccupied. 

 

“Well if it ain’t our Draco!” said a slightly nasally voice. “Larry would greet ya, but ‘is jaw’s all wired up and ‘e can’t speak.”

 

Draco had turned to his right to greet Larry and John and winced as he took in their appearance. They both looked a mess. Each man was heavily bandaged and bound, and their battered, bruised and swollen faces were testament to the severity of the attack. A flash of anger entered Draco’s chest at the sight, and he was more determined than ever to find out the identities of the men responsible.

 

“Those bastards!” he hissed, striding over to the beds. “I’ll find out who they were, I swear it—!”

 

“Fat chance o’ that, lad. The filth in this city can barely find their own arses with two ‘ands an’ a flashlight, let alone ‘alf a dozen scumbags targeting a club. We’ll be lucky if they turn up anything useful, even with the camera footage.”

 

“But that’s unacceptable!” Draco seethed. “Both of you were seriously injured! Roger and Lloyd were threatened! The business was put in jeopardy!”

 

John tried to shrug, and winced at the pain in his shoulder. “That’s just the way it is. It’s London. Businesses are robbed an’ people threatened an’ assaulted every day. Hardly any of the cases are solved or the offenders brought to justice.”

 

Larry nodded in agreement before picking up a notepad and pen from his nightstand and writing on it quickly. He then held it out to Draco. The note read,  _ Just as long as the bastards don’t come back again. _

 

Draco looked up, worried. “Do you think they might? Come back, I mean?” He handed the pad back to Larry, who exchanged a look with John.

 

“It’s possible.” John replied. “From what the bobby who came to interview us said, they seemed to know exactly what they wanted and where to get it. He reckons at least a couple of ‘em had probably visited the club before, posin’ as patrons so they could scope the place.” He rubbed his good hand over his face in frustration. “There’s a good chance it was a one-off and they won’t be back. But there’s also a chance they’ll try an’ hit us again while me an’ Larry are flat on our backs. If that happens, the club’s as good as finished. Our regulars will start gettin’ nervous and word will get around. Insurance will raise the premiums and Rog won’t be able to cover them. We’ll be sunk.”

 

“Not bloody likely,” Draco growled. “If they come back, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

 

John snorted in amusement, and Larry made a muffled noise that might have been laughter, which made him wince and clutch his hand to his face.

 

“An’ what do you plan to do to stop ‘em, Draco?” John challenged, smiling. “You gonna dazzle em with that pretty mug o’ yours? Charm ‘em into submission?”

 

Draco pretended to preen, sweeping his hair back and affecting a haughty expression. “Actually, I thought I might just look down my nose at them in disgust. They would feel thoroughly ashamed of themselves, apologise profusely, and leave immediately.”

 

Larry and John exchanged a look and rolled their eyes at each other.

 

“All jokes aside, these are dangerous men with some serious muscle,” John continued quietly. “Larry and me have been in this line o’ work for a long time, we’ve been in our fair share of scraps and taken our fair share of licks, but nothin’ like this.” He gestured to the room they occupied. “They got the jump on us before we could react, and even if we’d ‘ad time to react we were well outnumbered. They were organised, in an’ out in a matter of minutes. They’re not to be taken lightly. No one wants to see anyone else get hurt.”

 

Draco nodded in response. “I’ve talked to Roger. I have some old school mates I can call on to ask for help. Security isn’t their usual line of work, but we had to look out for each other and most of us played sport for our house teams. I know it’s not much, but a few extra people to stand in while the two of you recover will help keep the club open.”

 

“You’re a good lad, Draco, but don’t go getting yourself into trouble. We don’t fancy sharin’ a room with you, do we, Larry?” John had turned to Larry, who shook his head.

 

“I’ll come by and annoy you both as often as I can in lieu of taking up accomodations alongside.” He smirked. Preparing to leave, he asked, “Is there anything I can get either of you?”

 

Larry picked up his pad, scribbling, and handed it to Draco, who read it and laughed.  _ A bottle of Whiskey would hit the spot!  _ The note read. “When do you think you’ll be allowed to go home?” he asked the two men.

 

“Should be out of ‘ere in a couple days. After that it’ll be a lot of sittin’ on our bums an’ watchin’ daytime telly until we get the all clear to work again,” replied John.

 

“And how long will that be?” queried Draco.

 

“At least a month. Maybe more, depending on what the doc says.”

 

Draco had sighed and shook his head, frowning again at the situation in front of him. “Well, if there’s anything I can do for either of you in the meantime, just let me know.”

 

“Thanks, Draco. You’re not bad for a bleedin’ toff,” John teased.

 

Grinning, Draco shook each man’s hand before bidding them farewell and leaving the room, where he had run into Granger.

 

Thinking back to how upset she had clearly been, he didn’t want to leave without checking to see she was okay. There was a waiting room near the enquiries desk where he had asked for directions to John and Larry’s room earlier. He decided to remain until she came out, and settled down in one of the hard plastic chairs to wait.   
  


* * *

 

Hermione knocked softly on the door to Larry and John’s room. 

 

“Come in!” called a muffled voice. 

 

She turned the handle, entered the room and took in her surroundings, much as Draco had not long before. Turning to face them, she gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. She began to tremble, and silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she was faced with the reality of the men’s injuries.

 

“Oh, now, no tears!” John chided, gently. “A few days in ‘ere, then we’ll be sent ‘ome an’ can start annoyin’ our wives properly.”

 

“But-but look at you!” Hermione sobbed, moving over to stand between their two beds. “You must be in so much pain!” She reached out to hug John, mindful of his left shoulder which was supported by a large sling, before turning to embrace Larry.

 

“Not so much pain,” John tried to reassure her. “The painkillers take the edge off. We’re more uncomfortable than anythin’.”

 

Larry picked up his notepad and began to scribble again, then handed it to Hermione.  _ Good drugs they are, too, but the nurse won’t give us any booze,  _ she read. Looking up from the notepad, she couldn’t help but give Larry a look, causing him to hide his face in mock fear of her wrath. Despite her worry, she smiled slightly at his antics.

 

“Ahh, see? That’s better. More smiles from you, miss. It’ll cheer us up,” John said. 

 

Hermione settled herself carefully on the end of Larry’s bed so as not to disturb John’s broken leg. “Will you be away from work long?” she asked. 

 

“At least a month, maybe longer,” John answered as he had when Draco had asked the same question earlier.

 

Hermione sighed sadly. “As much as I want you both to rest properly and get better, I’ll miss seeing you every weekend.” She paused, mulling over her thoughts. “Will Rog even be able to open for his usual hours? I don’t mean to try and replace either of you, but if we can’t find anyone suitable, he’ll be worrying. Maybe I can ask a few of my friends if they know anybody.” 

 

She was thinking of Charlie, who was solidly built and could handle himself after being a Dragon trainer in Romania for the past several years; or Oliver Wood, who was a professional Quidditch player and therefore both alert and fit. 

 

_ Definitely not Ron or Harry, though, _ she mused.  _ Ron’s far too much of a hothead and Harry’s slim stature and glasses would stop people from taking him seriously _ . 

 

“Draco’s offered to try an’ get a few of ‘is school chums to come ‘an ‘elp out, too,” John recalled. “You both went to the same school, didn’t ya? Although I s’pose you didn’t run with the same crowds.” 

 

Roger had told Larry and John about Draco’s early confession, and they had been grudgingly impressed at his honesty and seemingly genuine remorse.

 

“Draco has offered?” she repeated in disbelief. “Why on earth would he do that?  I saw him in the corridor. He said he had come to see how you were getting on. He even said he talked to the doctor.” She frowned in confusion.

 

“‘E’s not such a bad lad, you know,” John said gently. “Sometimes people can change. ‘E admits bein’ a right foul git when you were at school together, but ‘e reckons ‘e keeps to ‘imself these days. I don’t know what ‘appened to ‘im between school ‘an now, but ‘e seems kinda-” John paused, thinking for the right word. Larry picked up the pad again and wrote, handing it to Hermione.  _ He seems sad,  _ the note said.  _ Like something bad happened and it’s still eating at him.  _

 

Hermione suspected she knew what that “something bad” might be. Getting involved with Death Eaters, being partially responsible for Dumbledore’s death, being subjected to public trials for his family’s crimes, and subsequently being shunned by the majority of Wizarding society could quite easily be considered bad and continue to eat at you. Of course, she could say nothing of this to the muggles she worked with and cared about.

 

Seeing she looked unconvinced, John continued. “I understand it’s ‘ard for you to get past the Draco you knew at school, and I don’t blame you for not trusting ‘im or wanting to talk to ‘im. But give ‘im a chance, if you can. Form your opinion based on current information, not the past.”

 

Hermione looked up, knowing he was right. It was one of the few arguments she couldn’t easily dismiss. Her logical mind knew it was important to always revise what you thought you knew about a subject, and be prepared to change your mind in the face of new evidence which challenged your existing point of view. 

 

She was a case in point - certain pure-blood families holding on to outdated beliefs about muggleborns, and who refused to accept the evidence that the latter were just as magically capable of the former, only held back the Wizarding world. It had hurt her to be judged so superficially, and she grudgingly told herself she should try not to make the same mistake.  _ Still, _ she thought with minor resentment, _ now I can see how the purebloods felt, in a way. I don’t  _ **_want_ ** _ to change my view of Draco, because it’s the one I’m accustomed to and I’m not sure how I could process a different version. _

 

“I’ll try,” she said softly. 

 

Just then, there was a tap at the door and a nurse walked in with a tray. “Time for your medications, gents!” she said cheerfully. “Your bones must just about be singing ‘Ave Maria’ by now!” She set the tray down on the meal table at the end of Larry’s bed and checked her notes carefully before distributing a pill cup to John. She then picked up a syringe which she carried over to Larry. “He will need liquid painkillers at first, due to the wiring,” she explained to Hermione as she administered the solution. 

 

She had Larry pull back the corner of his mouth, then inserted the nozzle behind his teeth and pushed the plunger. Hermione winced. It looked very painful. The nurse returned to her tray, signed the notes and wrote on each of their charts. She then asked each of them several questions regarding pain and movement, with Larry giving hand gestures in lieu of speaking. Smiling, she made notes on each of their charts before excusing herself and exiting the room.

 

Taking her cue, Hermione got up to leave. “You should both get some rest,” she said. “I’ll come back and visit again tomorrow afternoon. Can I bring you anything?” Both men shook their heads.

 

“Thanks for coming, Hermione. It means a lot.” John smiled. “Don’t you worry yourself abou’ us, we’ll be up an’ causin’ trouble in no time, won’t we Larry?” 

 

His companion nodded in assent and gave her a thumbs up. 

 

Hermione carefully hugged each of the men again, holding back tears as she looked them over again. “I love you both, you know. Now get some rest, that’s an order.” 

 

“Yes, miss.” John smirked.

 

With a final farewell, she stepped out of the room and into the corridor.

 

Walking toward the exit, she had almost passed the nurses’ station when her name was called. Turning, she saw Malfoy tentatively approaching her from the direction of the waiting room. Her first instinct told her to be on her guard, but then she remembered John’s words.  _ Give him a chance, if you can. _

 

She resolved to do that. “Hello, Malfoy,” she greeted him evenly.

 

* * *

 

Draco had waited anxiously for Hermione to return. He worried that she would ignore him, or worse, dismiss him outright, when he tried to intercept her. Now he could hear footsteps moving up the corridor toward him, and stood so he had a clear view of who was approaching. As anticipated, Hermione was passing the desk. 

 

Stepping out of the room, he called out, “Granger!” 

 

She turned, and his heart sank at her guarded, suspicious expression. Then suddenly, her face smoothed out and was replaced by a look of cautious curiosity. 

 

“Hello, Malfoy,” she replied carefully.

 

He was suddenly at a loss, having not expected this outcome. She looked like she was actually prepared to give him the time of day, instead of telling him to go to buggery as he’d expected. 

 

“Um-” he stuttered. She continued to look at him, waiting with slight impatience. “Would-” he swallowed “-would you like to join me for a cup of tea? You look like you could use one.” He watched as she appeared to consider the offer. 

 

He was sure she would decline, so couldn’t conceal his surprise when, after a moment, she softly answered. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know the area. Is there anywhere you recommend?”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t know this area either, but there’s bound to be something nearby.”

 

Nodding, he gestured toward the lifts, and together they stepped forward. The ride down to the ground floor and out of the building was decidedly uncomfortable, with neither knowing what to say. 

 

Once they stepped out onto the street, they were able to distract themselves by scanning the surrounding buildings for a likely place.

 

Seeing a man in a suit about to enter the building they had just exited, Draco stopped him. “Excuse me, sir, but can you recommend a good cafe nearby?”

 

The man nodded. “There’s a brilliant wee place about two blocks up.” He pointed in the direction they were to go. “Take a left when you reach the park and carry on about halfway down the street. It’s beside a florist in a small block of shops.” Draco thanked the man and he and Hermione set off.

 

Arriving at the cafe the man outside the hospital had recommended, the pair looked in the window. It was small but cosy, and several customers sat at small tables. 

 

Draco stepped forward and opened the door, indicating Hermione should enter first. She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. The room was bright and airy, and a delicious smell of freshly baked pies teased their senses. Moving over to the counter, they peered in at the delights on display in the cabinets and warming drawer. 

 

“Anything take your fancy, loves?” called a voice.

 

Glancing over the cabinets, they observed a plump, cheery woman with short grey hair standing behind the cash register. Draco turned to Hermione. “Pick whatever you’d like.” 

 

Hermione immediately picked up a plate off the counter and opened a cabinet door to retrieve a large cream doughnut, then selected a sandwich from the next set of shelves. 

 

Draco eyed Hermione’s doughnut hungrily. “That looks delicious.” he murmured. Following suit, he filled his own plate with the same items. Moving down to the cash register, her asked Hermione, “What tea do you prefer?”

 

“I quite like chai tea, but not all places sell it,” she replied, glancing at the woman behind the counter. 

 

“Sorry love, we have Earl Grey, Oolong, Darjeeling or English Breakfast. The other types don’t tend to sell here,” she apologised.

 

“Darjeeling will be fine. Thanks.” Hermione smiled at the woman, who nodded.

 

“And for you, love?” she asked, turning to Draco.

 

“The same, thank you,” he replied.

 

“Righto, love. I’ll bring you out your tea once it’s brewed. Sit anywhere you like.” The woman rang up their purchases. “That’ll be eleven pounds seventy.” 

 

Draco reached into a pocket, withdrawing several bills, and selected a twenty pound note. Passing it to the woman, he smiled kindly and told her to keep the change.

 

“That’s so kind of you, love! Thank you!” She beamed.

 

Picking up their tray, he followed Hermione to a table toward the back of the room that was a bit further away from the other diners. He was glad - it would mean they were unlikely to be overheard. They sat, and Draco glanced over at Hermione. He was startled to notice she was scrutinising him closely.

 

“Did I seem odd?” he asked worriedly. “I find it hard to- well- blend in, sometimes. I’m not accustomed to being in muggle London during the day, with people about.”

 

“Odd only in the sense you told the woman at the counter to keep eight pounds in change,”  Hermione replied, looking at him carefully. His concern must have shown on his face, because she carried on hurriedly. “There’s nothing wrong with the gesture. It’s just that people don’t do it often when it amounts to more than a couple of pounds.” 

 

He nodded carefully. “I see.”

 

Just then, the woman arrived with their tea things on a tray. She set down a silver teapot, two teacups, milk and sugar in the middle of their table. “Here you go, loves. Freshly brewed! Enjoy!” she announced cheerfully.

 

Draco and Hermione thanked her and she bustled off. Hermione picked up the teapot, removed the lid, and inhaled the scent of the liquid inside. Her contented smile told him the tea must have been perfectly brewed. Replacing the lid, she poured first for Draco, then herself. Picking up the sugar bowl, she added a small teaspoon and stirred gently, before softly tapping the spoon against the rim of the cup and resting it on the saucer. 

 

Draco watched Hermione’s delicate and graceful movements as she prepared her beverage, marvelling at how she seemed to make a simple, mundane everyday task seem like a dance. Picking up her cup, Hermione took a small sip and closed her eyes, sighing in satisfaction. Draco found himself enchanted.

 

Hermione opened her eyes and noticed Draco staring at her. “What is it?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?” the side of her mouth did that little twitch again.

 

“N-no. It’s nothing.” He shook his head. He wasn’t about to tell her that her gentle movements and open enjoyment of such simple pleasures as a good cup of tea, combined with her melodious singing voice, had him halfway in love with her already. He picked up his own tea and took a sip. It was delicious.

 

“No sugar?” Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

 

Draco smiled. “I used to load my tea with sugar, so much you couldn’t taste the tea at all. My mother-” his voice hitched and she looked at him kindly, urging him silently to continue. Taking a breath, he carried on, “My mother used to say it was barbaric to pour so much sugar into one’s tea, and was always nagging me to add less. To please her, I began reducing the amount of sugar I used. At first I disliked the stronger taste, but gradually grew to like it. Eventually, I stopped adding sugar to my tea altogether.” 

 

Hermione smiled gently at his story. “I saw your mother’s obituary. I’m sorry, That must have been very hard for you.”

 

Draco looked down at his cup. “Yes, it was. It still is. Truthfully, I find it hard to talk about still.” Awkwardly, he reached for his sandwich and unwrapped it, prompting Hermione do the same. They ate in silence for few minutes. 

 

Hermione finished her sandwich and wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. She looked like she wanted to speak, but was hesitant to do so. Draco simply watched her, waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

 

“I-you were the last person I expected to see at the hospital,” she finally stated. “I’m sorry if I appeared abrupt. It was a bit of a shock on top of hearing about the robbery.” He started to respond and she held up her hand, indicating she wanted to continue. “Larry and John… they seem...well…fond of you. They asked me to give you a chance.” Draco looked at her in surprise, and Hermione huffed, looking slightly aggrieved. “John went right for the jugular. He said I should base my opinion on current information and not the past. He knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with an argument against it.”

 

Draco was truly taken aback. Although he had a good rapport with the two bouncers, he would never have expected them to come out in support of him so strongly, and he felt absurdly touched that they thought highly enough of him to do so. 

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he responded. “I could apologise to you a thousand times for the person I used to be and the bad things I’ve done, but it wouldn’t be enough.” Pausing to fiddle with his empty sandwich wrapper, he struggled to put his thoughts into words. “I like Larry and John very much. They’re open and frank, and both have a cynical sense of humour that I can appreciate. They accepted me, and it’s not something I encounter often these days. I want to help any way I can.”

 

“John said you had offered to ask some of your friends to help out on the door while they’re recovering,” she remembered. “I had had the same idea. Who were you thinking of?”

 

“My first thought was Theo. Perhaps Blaise.”

 

“Why them?” Hermione asked curiously. 

 

“Theo spends a lot of time in muggle London. He’s familiar with all aspects of muggle culture, including how to interact with them as if he were one himself. He has a likeable air and most people get on with him. As for Blaise - well, he could charm the fairies from the trees. I think he’d be fantastic at managing even the worst troublemakers.” He smiled slightly at the thought of his friends’ characteristics. “Who did you have in mind?” he asked Hermione.

 

“Definitely  _ not _ Harry or Ron,” she answered, wrinkling her nose. 

 

Draco snorted. “You mean the other two thirds of the golden trio don’t have what it takes?” he sniped. Hermione glared at him in response, and he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. I thought Potter and Weasley were aurors now? Wouldn’t they be good at something like managing the door?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “They are aurors, but it doesn’t mean they’d be suitable for security work. Harry’s too skinny and geeky-looking, and there would be a risk patrons wouldn’t take him seriously. Ron has no experience with muggles and is far too quick to anger. He’d probably end up getting into a fight.”

 

“If not them, then who?” asked Draco.

 

“I was thinking of Oliver Wood - he plays professional Quidditch now, for the Chudley Cannons - or Charlie Weasley. He’s a dragon tamer in Romania.”

 

Draco perked up. “I had heard Charlie was working with dragons. I would have loved to have asked him all about it if-” he visibly deflated. “If things had been different.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable, but at the same time she felt a small twinge of sympathy for him. He really did seem regretful. “Charlie’s pretty easy-going. Maybe I can introduce the two of you some time?” The offer was out of her mouth before she could stop it. 

 

His reaction was altogether surprising - a genuine, faintly excited smile graced his angular features. “I’d really like that. I’ve always loved dragons.” His smile faded as the mention of the mythical creatures triggered the memory of a soft voice.  _...love you, my dragon.  _ His heart clenched in pain and he closed his eyes, willing himself to remain in control. He opened them again to see Hermione looking at him with open concern.

 

“Are you alright?” she asked. “You look a little ill. Shall I get you some water?”

 

“No-No, thank you. I-” he tried to think quickly of a good excuse. “I get headaches. They come and go, sometimes quite suddenly. I’ll be okay.”

 

Hermione looked doubtful. “Well… if you’re sure.”

 

Draco tried to smile reassuringly. “I’m sure. Thank you.” Eager to change the subject, he attempted to bring the topic back around to how they could arrange cover for Larry and John until they could return to work. “I intend to contact Blaise and Theo tonight and ask them to meet with me. If they agree to help, and if you can convince Weasley and Wood, shall we try and arrange a time for us all to get together to create a plan? It would be easier to put together a schedule that suits everyone that way, rather than having to go back and forth.”

 

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Just what I was thinking. I’m sure Charlie and Oliver would be happy to help. Although-” she paused, biting her lip “-I can’t help but worry things may be less than friendly between Oliver and three former Slytherins.”

 

Draco sighed. “I suppose I can understand his sentiments. I mean, there’s me, for a start-” he looked down at his hands again. “-and as I recall, he was extremely competitive and had no love for anyone in our house.”

 

Hermione snorted. “Your summary of Oliver is an understatement. Harry told me some stories about when Oliver was captain of the Gryffindor team. He said they had to endure long practices in all elements, and were subjected to lectures about how Flint and the rest of the Slytherin team were dirty, underhanded cheaters.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Of course, Harry was in complete agreement with Oliver’s sentiments regarding Slytherins. But he sometimes resented how hard the team was made to work, especially when they lost a match.”

 

Draco laughed softly. “In all fairness, Flint was no more a fan of Gryffindors than they were of Slytherins. None of us were,” he admitted. “And Potter and Wood are not entirely wrong in regards to the sportsmanship of the Slytherin team - or lack thereof. Flint was entirely in favour of cheating and dirty, underhanded tactics, and in fact encouraged us to use them as often as we could get away with.”

 

Hermione looked scandalised. “So you  _ did _ cheat during matches!” she exclaimed. 

 

“Of course,” he replied.

 

Hermione huffed and snatched up her cream doughnut, which had been sitting forgotten on her plate. Taking a large bite, she scowled at him. Amused, Draco picked up his own doughnut and bit into it delicately. It was soft and fresh, with a generous helping of whipped cream and dusted with just the right amount of cinnamon and sugar. 

 

He watched as Hermione chewed furiously before swallowing. “I can’t believe you!” she muttered. There was a small dot of cream on the corner of her mouth, and he was suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and wipe it away. Instead, he indicated delicately at the corner of his mouth. Still looking at him in disgust, she wiped her napkin across her lips.

 

“Cheating at Quidditch was not one of my proudest moments,” he remarked candidly. “Still, out of the bad choices I made, it was definitely not the worst.”

 

Hermione sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” 

 

Draco winced at her agreement. While he couldn’t reasonably expect a gentler reponse, it still stung, and reminded him that she was still trying to come to terms with who he was now. They finished their doughnuts in silence, neither knowing what to say next. 

 

Draco picked up his napkin to wipe his mouth and hands, then, picking up his teacup, swallowed the last of its contents. He grimaced. It had gone cold.

 

Hermione looked at her watch. “I’d best be going. Thank you for inviting me to tea.” 

 

“Can I walk you back to the apparition point?” Draco asked softly. 

 

She hesitated a moment, and once again he was afraid she would decline. As stilted as their time together had been, he did not want to part from her company, and he found himself relieved when she nodded wordlessly. 

 

Standing, he gathered up the tea things and plates, arranged them on the tray and delivered it to the counter, thanking the woman once more. Returning to their table, he asked, “Are you ready?” 

 

Hermione nodded once again, and together they exited the cafe.

 

Walking back toward the hospital and apparition point, they were silent. Upon arrival, Draco turned to Hermione again. “May I owl you later, once I’ve talked to Theo and Blaise?” 

 

“Yes, that would be fine. It may take a bit longer for me to get an answer from Charlie, due to his timetable and the distance. But I should be able to confirm with both of them early next week at the latest.”

 

Draco smiled. “Thank you for coming to tea with me,” he said simply. 

 

“You should thank John,” Hermione responded frankly. “If not for him and his remark about basing my opinion on current information, I likely would have said no.”

 

Draco winced inwardly. There was that brutal honesty again. It was something he had always secretly admired about her, right from the time they were at school together. Still, being the subject of that brutal honesty was hard to take. “Well… until next time?”

 

“Until next time,” Hermione echoed. With a decisive turn, she apparated away. 

 

Draco stayed a moment longer, fancying he could still smell a slight whiff of her perfume. Sandalwood, he thought, and a slight hint of vanilla. Turning on the spot as she had, he apparated back to the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....! Draco and Hermione managed to get through that without any disasters!  
> I have a craving for a cream doughnut after this chapter...


	6. The Mixmaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh so I just realised I skipped a chapter last week... hearty apologies and I hope it makes more sense now!

**_Hermione’s flat, Sunday evening_ **   
  
Hermione sat in her favourite chair by the window, musing over her time with Draco. It had been stiff and awkward, but there had been a few moments where it was almost… amicable. And there was something about him that she couldn’t quite place. Like he was missing something, some vital component, but he was doing his best to carry on as if nothing was wrong. 

 

She thought back to what Larry had written on his notepad. _He seems sad._ _Like something bad happened and it’s still eating at him._ Having seen glimpses twice of his distress, although he had tried his best to conceal it, Hermione was inclined to agree. He did seem sad. However, she no longer thought his sadness had anything to do with his poor choices in their final years at Hogwarts. No, it ran deeper than that. She was loath to admit it, but she was intrigued.

 

Rising from her seat, Hermione moved over her desk and sat, pulling parchment and quill toward her. She penned two identical letters, addressing one to Oliver and one to Charlie, simply explaining that the doormen for the nightclub she sang at had been injured in an incident and were unable to work, leaving the owner short. She knew she was asking a lot, she wrote, but would they be available to cover a few shifts over the course of the next month to six weeks as a favour to her? If they were available, she hoped to organise an informal catch up later in the week between themselves and any other people able to help, in order to organise a roster which would suit everybody’s availability. 

 

Sealing and addressing the letters, she rose again and wandered over to the corner of the room where a spotted tawny owl sat regally on a perch. “Athena, can you deliver each of these letters for me, please?” she asked. The owl hooted gently in response and Hermione tied one letter to each leg before moving back over to the window and opening it, allowing Athena to soar into the darkening sky.

 

Hermione felt confident both men would be willing and able to help, but she still worried about how Oliver would react to the potential presence of Malfoy, Nott and Zabini. It was for this reason she had neglected to mention who the potential ‘other people’ might be.  _ And anyway _ , she told herself.  _ There’s always a chance either or both of Malfoy’s friends will be unable or unwilling to help _ . She shook her head. It was a futile hope. She didn’t know much about the personal relationship Malfoy had with the two men, but she also knew house loyalties ran deep. They were unlikely to refuse him completely.

 

She sighed and headed to the kitchen to make herself a hot chocolate, thoughts of Malfoy in her head again. This time, her mind slipped back to how little she knew about the post-Hogwarts Draco. Frowning in concentration, Hermione tried to recall if she had either heard or read about what Draco had been doing with his time since the trials. Try as she might, nothing came to mind and she huffed in frustration. 

 

She was certain he didn’t work at the Ministry, at least. She had been employed there since graduation, first as an Auror and then as an assistant to the current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. If Malfoy had worked for the Ministry in any capacity, she would have heard. She certainly didn’t read much about him in the Daily Prophet. Although - she let out a derisive snort as she remembered - there  _ was _ occasional mention of him, seen drunk and disorderly in public, often in the company of an equally drunk and disorderly witch (or witches).

 

The kettle began to whistle, startling Hermione out of her reverie. She added hot water and milk to her drink and took it back to her dependable old chair. Picking up the latest Lee Child book,  _ Echo Burning _ , she settled back into the comfortable cushions and began to read.

 

She was interrupted some time later by a tapping at her window. She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly ten.  _ Strange,  _ she thought.  _ I wouldn’t have expected Athena back so soon.  _ Crossing the room, she was surprised to see an imposing but beautiful eagle owl perched on the windowsill. She swung the window out further so it could enter, and it climbed inside. It was too big to easily spread its wings in her small sitting room, so it hopped across the floor and jumped up onto the arm of the sofa. The owl extended its leg, to which a letter was tied, and hooted at her impatiently. 

 

“Hm. You wouldn’t be  _ Malfoy’s _ owl, by any chance?” Hermione enquired, amused. The owl tossed its head haughtily in response, causing her to snigger. The animal definitely reminded her of the Draco she was more accustomed to. 

 

Approaching the couch, she untied the letter and examined the script. It was in an elegant copperplate hand that she recognised. Yes, this was definitely Malfoy’s writing - she had seen it enough times at Hogwarts to be sure. Hermione ran her fingers over the ink, tracing the shape of the letters as they formed her name. 

 

She was interrupted suddenly by a large wing slapping her in the face. “Hey!” she exclaimed indignantly. The owl stared balefully at her before looking pointedly around the room. “Treats? Yes, I have some. But there’s no need to be rude!” Hermione huffed. 

 

She moved across to her bookshelf and retrieved the jar of treats, taking a handful and bringing them back to the owl. It gulped them down, then regarded her appraisingly before jumping back down to the floor, hopping across the room and out the window, where it took off somewhat clumsily into the night. Turning the letter over again, she slowly opened it, a mix of apprehension, curiosity, and another emotion - was it  _ anticipation? _ \- tingling in her belly.

* * *

**_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Malfoy Manor, Sunday Evening_

 

“What’s this all about, Draco?” Blaise inquired as he lazed gracefully over a chair in the sitting room off Draco’s study.

 

Theo, who was leaning casually against a wall, nodded in agreement. “Yes, tell us already. Or do you plan to just make us watch you pace all evening?” he sniped.

 

Draco turned to his two friends. When he had arrived home after having tea with Hermione, he immediately sent Aeneas, his eagle owl, out to deliver urgent letters to Theo and Blaise asking them to come to the manor for dinner that evening, as he needed to ask them both a favour. They had exchanged the necessary small talk during the meal before moving to the sitting room for drinks. Which had led them to the present situation. 

 

“I need your help,” he stated simply. “Larry and John are injured and unable to work for the foreseeable immediate future, and the club needs reliable people on the door in their absence.”

 

“And you want us to,what? Take over their position?” Theo frowned.

 

“Wait, wait, wait!,” exclaimed Blaise, holding up a hand. “What’s going on? Who are Larry and John? Why can’t they work? What club? Someone get me up to speed, here!” He glared at Draco before turning to Theo. “Do  _ you _ have any idea what he’s babbling on about?” 

 

Theo sighed. “I do, unfortunately. It’s a rather long story. I’m afraid if I let Drake tell it, we really  _ will _ be here all night—” he turned to look at Draco “—do you mind if I give him the details?”

 

Draco sighed. He knew Theo was right. His mind was so muddled over the day’s events, he could barely string together a coherent thought. All he could think about was Hermione’s large amber eyes which seemed to shine with whichever emotion she was feeling. He wordlessly gestured to Theo to go ahead.

 

“Right. So, a few weeks go, we were out on the piss and Drake got into a scrap with some muggle at a club. He was getting dragged out as a woman was singing and insisted on going back to find out who she was. He managed to work his way back in, with me supervising, and we found out the singer was Granger—”

 

“ _ Hermione _ Granger? Swotty, know-it-all, bushy-haired, Potter’s-best-mate Granger?” Blaise interrupted incredulously.

 

“Yes,  _ that _ Granger,” Theo responded impatiently. “So Drake started going to listen to her sing every weekend, and he somehow made friends with the owner and the doormen, and he was sending Granger gifts anonymously every time he came in—”

 

“Sending her gifts? What for? I thought he hated her—” Blaise turned to address Draco directly. “I thought you hated her. Why would you go and listen to her sing? Why would you send her  _ gifts?” _

 

“Blaise, are you going to let me finish filling you in, or you going to interrupt me with a barrage of questions every few seconds?” Theo sniped. 

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Blaise held up his hands in surrender. “I  _ do  _ have a of of questions, though.”

 

“Well save them until I’m finished, will you?” Blaise nodded in acquiescence and gestured for Theo to continue. “Right. So Granger found out it was Draco sending the gifts and she wasn’t happy. She confronted him and indicated she didn’t feel comfortable with him being there. That was last weekend. Last night the two muggle men who manage the door to the club were attacked and the establishment robbed in an organised raid. They were injured, as Draco said, and—” Theo looked at Draco for confirmation “—I’m guessing the owner doesn’t have anyone immediately available to cover the door for the duration?” Draco nodded in agreement. “So he’s called us here to ask if we will help him by helping the muggle owner.”

 

Blasie wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That doesn’t sound like much fun. Why would you go to so much trouble, and pull us into it—” he waved his arm to indicate Theo “—just for a muggle club?”

 

“For Hermione,” Draco answered quietly. “The club and the owner and doormen are important to her. The owner is a good man. He gave me a second chance and I’ve gotten to know him. He works hard and doesn’t deserve to have something like this happen to him.”

 

Blaise stared at Draco, comprehension dawning on his face. “You  _ like _ her, don’t you? You’ve got a thing for Granger!” He smirked, amused.

 

“I do not have a  _ thing!” _ Draco responded fiercely. “I like her, yes. But it isn’t so superficial as a  _ thing.” _

 

“Whatever.” Blaise shrugged. “Unlike some of you, I don’t discriminate when it comes to women, he grinned lavisciously. “And they are lining up down the street to spend time with me, for my charm as well as my money.” 

 

“I’m well aware of what my attitude towards certain women has been in the past, Blaise,” Draco responded snippily.  “Can I count on you to help me, or not?” 

 

“Do many women go to this club?” Blaise asked thoughtfully.

 

“I guess so.” Draco shrugged. “I never really paid much attention to the other patrons.”

 

“Okay.” He smirked. “Count me in. What do I have to do?”

 

“Just stand at the door, greet patrons and minimise trouble. Don’t let obviously drunk people in. I’m not sure what else there is to it, but Hermione probably will.”

 

“So she knows you planned to ask us to help?” Theo interjected.

 

“Well, yes. Actually, I had tea with her this afternoon.”

 

Theo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How in Merlin’s name did you manage to swing that?” he asked, intrigued.

 

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Draco replied quietly. “I went to check on Larry and John in the hospital and she was arriving as I was leaving. I waited around until she came out, invited her to tea, and she said yes.” He shrugged. “I had been so sure she would say no I almost bolted from the building.”

 

“And she doesn’t have a problem with a couple of Slytherins around her muggle club? She doesn’t think we’ll try to harm them?” sniped Blaise.

 

“Of course not.” Draco frowned. “She’s more worried about what Oliver Wood will think of a couple of Slytherins around her muggle club.”

 

“Wood?” Blaise snorted. “That colossal twat? He thought he was the king of Quidditch.”

 

Behind him, Theo also snorted back laughter. “I take it she wants to bring Wood into it?”

 

Draco nodded. “And Weasley.”

 

“Which one?” chimed Theo and Blaise together.

 

“Charlie. The one who works with dragons in Romania.”

 

“Well thank Merlin for that.” Blaise sighed. “I thought you were going to say Ron.”

 

Draco laughed. “Hermione was quite adamant she didn’t want to involve him. Or Potter, for that matter.”

 

“Are you  _ sure _ we’re talking about Hermione Granger?” Blaise questioned skeptically. “I thought the  _ golden trio—” _ he emphasised this with heavy sarcasm “—were never apart.”

 

“She thinks they aren’t suitable. Potter’s too weedy-looking and Weasley loses his temper too easily.” Draco tried his best to restrain his smirk.

 

Blaise sniggered. “Okay. I think I can handle Wood and the dragon-tamer Weasley.” Turning to Theo, he asked “What about you, Nott? Keen for a laugh?”

 

Theo frowned. “I don’t know. Susan would probably prefer I’m not away all weekend for the next couple of months.”

 

“Hermione and I thought we could all get together and organise a roster so that situation is avoided,” Draco explained. 

 

“Oh, come on Theo. Where’s your house spirit?” Blaise teased. 

 

Theo grumbled to himself, raising his eyes heavenward, and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he conceded with the air of a man who knows it is hopeless to refuse. “I’ll help, too.”

 

Draco grinned and clapped Theo on the shoulder. “Thanks mate. I really appreciate it.” Turning to acknowledge Blaise, he continued. “Thank you both.”

 

“Just make sure you tell us all about it when you finally get Granger into your bed,” Blaise replied, giving Draco a lewd wink. “She is a Gryffindor after all, and in my experience with that particular house, the lioness roars loudest between the sheets.”

 

Draco couldn’t help reddening at the thought of having Hermione in his bed. Thus far, he had barely dared hope she would one day allow him to kiss her, let alone anything else. “Do you ever think of anything other than sex, Blaise?” he sniped.

 

“Of course I do!” Blaise retorted, feigning indignation. “I think about food, and fashion, and how devilishly handsome and successful I am.” 

 

Theo shook his head in exasperation and moved to gather his cloak, which had been slung carelessly over the back of a chair, and glanced at Draco. “Just let me know what’s happening once you and Granger work out a time, and we’ll be there.” 

 

Blaise leapt elegantly up from the chair he had been draped across. “That’s my cue to leave, too. I’ve an early start in the morning.”

 

Draco escorted his two friends to the foyer, where they bid their farewells before Theo and Blaise departed via the floo.

 

Once they had left, Draco paced the silent and empty sitting room, debating with himself. Should he owl Hermione now, or wait until morning? He glanced at the clock over the mantel. It was almost nine-thirty. She would likely still be awake, but would it be an imposition to disturb her at this hour? What if she had gone to bed early? He tugged at his hair and groaned in frustration and anxiety. What he needed was a second opinion. “Pria!”

 

With a pop, Pria appeared before him. “Master Malfoy calls Pria?” she inquired.

 

“Pria, should I owl Miss Granger this evening to tell her Theo and Blaise are willing to help, or wait until the morning? Do you think it would be inappropriate to contact her tonight?”

 

Pria looked uncomfortable. “It is not Pria’s place to tell Master Malfoy when he should owl Miss Granger,” she replied nervously.

 

“I’m giving you permission, Pria. I-I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

 

Pria studied Draco’s face carefully, her big eyes contemplative and her head slightly tilted to one side. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke. “Pria thinks Master Malfoy should listen to what his heart tells him.” 

 

Draco smiled. “Thank you, Pria. That will be all.”

 

With a bow, the elf disappeared, and Draco was alone once more. He quickly exited the sitting room, moving down the hallway and up the stairs, and entered his study. Sitting at his desk, he took parchment, ink and quill from a drawer. He deliberated for several minutes before writing,

 

_ Dear Hermione, _

_   
_ _ Both Theo and Blaise have agreed to help. They will make themselves available at whatever time suits all involved.  _

 

He paused, wanting to write more but not sure what to say. He tapped the quill nervously against the edge of the inkpot several times, thinking. Then he added:

 

_ I very much enjoyed having tea with you earlier. I plan to visit John and Larry again tomorrow afternoon after work, around four-thirty. If you are intending to visit them around this time also, perhaps I can take you to dinner afterwards? _

 

Draco frowned. Was that enough? Too much? Too little? He sighed and looked at the clock. If he didn’t send the letter now, it really would be too late.

 

Moving to the open window, he called for his eagle owl. “Aeneas!” The owl preferred to roam the grounds of the manor, rather than be confined indoors. He came and went as he pleased, and this independence could be somewhat of an inconvenience at times. “Where is that blasted owl?” Draco grumbled to himself. “ _ Aeneas!”  _

 

After several more moments with no sign of his wayward owl he turned, muttering, to a shelf on the cabinet where he kept a jar of the owl treats Aeneas preferred. Returning to the window, he shook them loudly, looking all the while into the darkness. Suddenly a shape swooped out of the gloom, aiming directly at his head, and Draco instinctively ducked, feeling the air around him move as large wings swished above. 

 

Standing again, he observed the large owl perched on the back of his high-backed chair, staring at him in clear disapproval. In one claw was part of what appeared to be a rat, which Aeneas slowly lifted to his beak. Maintaining eye contact with Draco, the owl proceeded to slowly finish his dinner, dropping small bits of rat entrails onto the seat below.

 

Draco grimaced. “ _ Must _ you do that, Aeneas? Look at the mess you’ve made of my chair.” Aeneas clearly had no regard whatsoever for the state of said chair, and fluffed himself in response, causing loose feathers and dirt to drift down and join the mess.

 

Sighing, Draco picked up the letter and moved over to Aeneas to tie it on. Aeneas promptly nipped at his finger. “What now?” Draco grumbled. 

 

Aeneas glared down at the treat jar, momentarily forgotten in Draco’s other hand. Shaking his head, he opened the jar and fed the owl several treats. “One of these days, I’m going to donate you to Hogwarts and you can slum it in the owlery with all the plain barn owls,” he threatened. Aeneas looked at him contemptuously and held out his foot so Draco could tie the letter to it. “Now take this letter to Hermione Granger.” 

 

Without any further acknowledgement, Aeneas took flight, whacking Draco in the face with a wing in the process, and sailed across the room and out into the night.

 

It wasn’t until he had gone that Draco realised Hermione’s owl might not be available to send a reply, and he should have instructed Aeneas to wait for a response. Groaning in frustration, he moved to sit in his chair. Feeling something squash beneath him, he suddenly remembered the leavings his owl had so thoughtfully scattered over the seat and swore loudly. 

 

Standing, he wandlessly cast  _ scourgify  _ charms on both the chair and the seat of his trousers before resuming his previous position. Draco opened a drawer beside him and removed several files, intending to distract himself with work for once instead of alcohol. At first he had difficulty focusing, his mind drifting back to what Hermione’s answer would be, but eventually he was able to lose himself in his reports.

* * *

  
**_St Thomas Hospital, Muggle London, Monday afternoon_ **   
  
At promptly at four-thirty the next afternoon, Draco arrived at the hospital with a small wooden box box in his hand, and made his way through the building until he reached the floor where John and Larry were recuperating. He felt the feelings of anxiety begin to bubble up in his chest again as he entered the corridor leading to their room. Trying to remain calm, he knocked and entered the room. Glancing around, his stomach sank slightly to see Hermione was not there, but then he remembered the box in his hand and decided it was probably better that she was absent..

 

“What a sight for sore eyes! We’re goin’ mad with boredom in ‘ere, ‘ain’t we Larry?”

 

Draco turned and smiled at Larry and John, who were sitting up in bed and grinning at him. Well, John was grinning. Larry only managed a grimace, thanks to his recently wired jaw. “How are you both?” he asked. “How is your pain?”

 

“We’ve both seen better days, but we’ll come right,” John replied optimistically. 

 

Nodding, Draco set down the box he had been holding on the bedside cabinet between the two men. “What time do rounds usually occur?” he asked quietly. 

 

John checked the clock on the wall above the door, then said, “About five-thirty. Nurse brings our dinner and meds, pokes and prods us a bit, then buggers off again.”

 

Draco grinned and gently sat on Larry’ bed. “Excellent. I bought a sampler for you both to try.” 

 

Larry picked up his pad and scribbled, then passed it to Draco.  _ Looks a bit small to have biscuits in it, _ it read.

 

With a wicked expression, Draco opened the box. “It’s a different kind of sampler.” Lying within the box were eight nip-sized bottles of alcohol in two neat rows. Larry grunted happily and slapped Draco on the back, while John just laughed.

 

“You bloody ratbag. If the nurse finds out about that, we’re in big trouble.”

 

“The crime is getting caught.” Draco winked in response.

 

Larry wrote on his pad again, turning it to show both Draco and John.  _ I like this one,  _ it said. He put down the pad and indicated toward the box, asking silently to see it. Draco handed it over and Larry enthusiastically examined the options before selecting a bottle of Famous Grouse whiskey. He plucked a plastic straw from a cup that had been sitting on the bedside cabinet, unscrewed the cap from the bottle and stuck the straw in. 

 

“Don’t hold out now, giz a look!” John chided good-naturedly, and Larry handed over the box. John selected a bottle of Jameson and unscrewed the label. “You’re going to join us now, aren’t you?” he invited, looking at Draco and offering him the box. Draco selected a bottle of Johnnie Walker and unscrewed the cap. 

 

“Cheers!” John toasted, and the three men clinked their bottles and drank. Larry consumed his with amazing precision, deftly inserting the straw into the gap where the nurse had given him his medication the day before and making the liquid disappear.

Suddenly the door opened and they guiltily tried to hide the evidence. “Hello!” Hermione’s voice trilled. She entered the room and stopped short, staring at the three men suspiciously. “What are you lot up to?” she asked, frowning.

 

“Ummm…” said Draco, surreptitiously attempting to slide the empty bottle of liquor into his trouser pocket.

 

“Just talking about football, love,” John added cherrily.

 

Hermione, clearly not buying it, strode over to the beds and spied the box sitting open on John’s bed. “Alcohol? What’s the meaning of this?” She rounded on Draco, her eyes flashing. “I suppose this is  _ your _ doing?” she snapped furiously. “What on earth were you thinking, Malfoy?”

 

Draco found himself frozen, quite intimidated by Hermione’s piercing glare and tone. “Uh... I-well—” he stuttered.  _ Merlin’s beard, she’s scarier than ever! _ his panicked mind gibbered.  _ What if she punches me again?  _ Then a worse thought occurred to him.  _ What if she never wants to speak to or associate with me again? _

 

“It’s my fault, love.” John said quietly. 

 

Draco’s head whipped toward him in perfect synchronicity with Hermione’s. .

 

“ _ Your  _ fault?” Hermione questioned.

 

“Wait—” Draco pleaded at the same time.

 

“Explain yourself,” Hermione demanded, hands on hips, as she fixed John with a hard stare.

 

John looked slightly shamefaced as he explained. “Well, Larry ‘ere kept dreamin’ of whiskey, and it ‘ad an effect on me, too. A man gets a cravin’ for a good nip, you see. We know we’re not supposed to ‘ave anythin’ to drink, but Larry’s in ‘ere at least one more night and I might be lookin’ at two if the doc doesn’t like the look of me leg.” He glanced at Hermione, an apologetic expression on his face. “I asked Draco ‘ere to smuggle us in a box of the little bottles, so we could have a sneaky nightcap.”

 

Hermione rounded back on Draco. “Is that true?” she asked. 

 

Draco felt a subtle nudge against his leg, which he took to be a sign from Larry to go with the story. Thankfully Hermione did not seem to have noticed the movement, so focussed was she on boring her amber brown eyes into his grey ones. 

 

Not trusting himself to speak more than a few words, he nodded and managed to croak, “Er, yes. That’s right.”

 

“And you didn’t think so say no?” she challenged.

 

“Go easy on ‘im, love,” John interrupted. “He did say if we needed anything we should ask. I was the one who took liberties with that offer. If you’re goin’ to be cross with anyone, it should be me for askin’—” he paused, and glanced sideways at Larry “—and Larry over there for puttin’ the idea in my ‘ead in the first place.”

 

“Oi!” Larry objected, muffled by his rigid jaw.

 

Gasping, Hermione momentarily forgot her displeasure and exclaimed “Larry! It’s good to hear you speak!”

 

“It hurts a bit,” Larry explained. “Face still sore. Be easier in a few days.”

 

“Well don’t go overdoing it then,” Hermione responded in a bossy tone, although her voice had softened. “Let yourself heal up a bit more.” Turning back to Draco, she appeared sheepish. “I apologise for jumping to conclusions,” she said softly. 

 

“It’s no bother.” Draco responded, relieved now the heat was off. 

 

Frowning again, Hermione looked sternly from John to Larry. “But no more cheeky requests, you hear? I’m sure you’re not supposed to take alcohol with your medications.”

 

“No more cheeky requests,” John agreed. “But we’ve all ‘ad one. Why don’t you partake as well?” he encouraged, winking at her conspiratorially and indicating the box. 

 

Hermione huffed. “Absolutely not! It would set a poor example.”

 

“But we’re uneven now,” John rationalised. “You know we’re just goin’ to divvy up the last bottles between us anyway, and if there are only four left it avoids disagreements.”

 

Hermione’s mouth twitched as she tried to keep a straight face, and Draco’s stomach did a little flip in response. He had no idea why that little tick affected him so, but out of her many facial expressions it was one of his favourites.

 

Sighing in mock resignation, Hermione pulled the box toward her and examined the remaining bottles. Selecting a bottle of Canadian Club, she unscrewed the top and downed the contents quickly. 

 

Stashing the empty bottle in her handbag, she removed a packet of gum, removed a piece and began to chew. “How do you intend to remove the alcohol from your breath?” she asked the men. They stared at her, clearly having not considered this problem. Smirking, she stood. I’ll be right back.” With that, she exited the room.

 

Draco quickly turned to John. “You didn’t have to save my ass like that,” he said gratefully. “But thank you all the same. I thought she was going to punch me again.” 

 

“It’s no bother, lad.” John smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “Can’t ‘ave you gettin’ into her bad books again now, can we?” Looking interested, he asked, “what’s this about punching you  _ again?” _

 

“I made her exceptionally angry at school, once.” Draco explained. “She stormed up to me and punched me square in the jaw. It was completely unexpected.” he rubbed the spot as he recollected. “It hurt like hell.” John and Larry both chuckled in response.

 

Hermione returned several minutes later with a bottle of orange juice. “I got this from the vending machine down the corridor,” she explained. It will conceal the smell.” Opening the bottle, she poured it between Larry’s and John’s cups and handed one to each man. “I considered leaving you hanging, considering you’re an accomplice—” she smirked at Draco “—but I’ll let you have a piece of gum instead.” Reaching back into her handbag, she removed the gum for a second time and handed it to Draco, who nodded his thanks and took a piece.

 

Barely ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door and the nurse walked in, wheeling a small trolley. “Dinner’s a bit early tonight!” she stated energetically.

 

Larry sighed mournfully and turned his hand to his notepad once again, before passing it around the group.  _ I’m sick of liquid food already,  _ the note said.  _ I would kill for a burger and chips. _

Hermione clucked in sympathy and gave Larry a hug, while Draco clapped him gently on the shoulder.

 

“Right, I should probably be off and let you get on with it,” Draco stated, coming to his feet. “Let me know how you both go with your release date from this prison.” 

 

His comment earned him a frown from the nurse. Draco pretended not to notice, instead turning to farewell the men lying in the beds either side of him.

 

“I should be going, too,” added Hermione. She carefully hugged each man in turn and placed a kiss upon their cheeks.

 

Heading to the door together, Hermione and Draco paused at the threshold to look back and wave before stepping out into the corridor.

 

Outside in the corridor, they stood awkwardly together. Draco took a deep breath and asked the question that had been plaguing him the previous evening. “Will you join me for dinner tonight?” 

 

His heart leapt when she bit her lip and nodded.

 

“Yes, thank you. I’d like that.” She paused, looking up at him. “I would have replied last night, but I had already sent my owl to deliver letters to Oliver and Charlie.”

 

They started walking toward the lifts. “I’m sorry. I should have thought to ask Aeneas to wait for your reply.”

 

Her eyes lit up. “His name is Aeneas? How lovely! What made you choose such a name?”

 

Draco shrugged. “I like Greek Mythology.” By now they had reached the lifts. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

 

The doors dinged and they stepped in. “Do you like Indian food?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Never tried it. What’s it like?” Draco replied.

 

Hermione gasped in shock. “You’ve-you’ve never tried Indian food? Get out of here!”

 

He smirked. “I’m a wizard who doesn’t often frequent the muggle world and so my experience with muggle things is, as you’d expect, limited.”

 

They reached the ground floor and stepped out of the lift, making their way toward the exit.

 

Hermione snorted in amusement. “Except when it come to mocktails and bars, you mean.”

 

Draco coloured in embarrassment at being caught out liking the colourful and creative drinks, and Hermione giggled at his discomfort.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with liking mocktails.” She smiled at him. “And Lloyd is like our very own Elmo McElroy, minus the explosive concoctions. We call him the mix master.” Draco looked confused, and Hermione explained. “It’s an action movie about a man who is a master chemist. He was creating new drugs for criminals and has a propensity for creating chaos and swearing. It’s brilliant.”

 

By now they had exited the building and were standing on the street. “The restaurant where I usually go is on the other side of the city. We’ll need transportation,” Hermione said, looking at him meaningfully as muggles moved busily around them. Draco nodded in understanding and they walked to the apparition point they had used the previous day. 

 

On arrival, Hermione offered her arm. “It’ll be quicker if you side-along with me. Can’t have you getting lost.” She smirked at Draco, who sniffed.

 

“I’ll have you know I have an excellent navigational ability,” he retorted, thrusting his chin forward. Hermione simply rolled her eyes in response and continued to hold her arm extended. 

 

Draco took it and they swirled out of sight.


	7. Lioness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love as always to CourtingInsanity - including an extra big thank-you for the feedback on this chapter, which I initially wasn't at all sure about.
> 
> Things are getting interesting now between Hermione and Draco - but will it all go pear-shaped?

Hermione and Draco arrived in a small park. 

 

“This way!” Hermione called, heading toward the exit. 

 

Draco followed as she turned onto the street and walked for several minutes until they came to a small row of shops. As they neared the building, the scent of garlic and spices drifted tantalisingly toward her on the air. She turned back to see Draco inhaling deeply.

 

“What  _ is _ that delicious smell?” he asked.

 

“That, Malfoy—” Hermione smiled “—is Indian food. The best in all of London, in my opinion.” They had reached the entrance. A sign above the door declared the name of the restaurant to be  _ The Charming Tiger.  _ “I come here several times a month,” she explained as she pushed open the door.

 

“Welcome, Miss Granger!” a tall man greeted her as they walked in. He sported a trim black moustache and a clean-shaven jaw, and his wide smile was infectious. Glancing over her shoulder, he spied Draco. “You have a date, Miss Granger? He is very handsome.” The man waggled his eyebrows suggestively and winked.

 

Hermione blushed and laughed. “Hello, Nazim. This is Draco—” she leaned toward Nazim and added in a loud stage whisper “—and he’s  _ never _ eaten Indian food before.”

 

Nazim gasped in shock, bringing his hands to his chest for good measure. “Surely you are joking, Miss Hermione!” he cried theatrically. “Maybe he has simply not tried quality Indian food?”

 

Draco, uncomfortable at being the centre of attention, cleared his throat. “I’ve never tried it in any form, I’m afraid.”

 

“Well! This is serious and must be remedied immediately!” Nazim announced. “This calls for—”

 

“The banquet platter!” said Nazim and Hermione together.

 

“I trust you will be eating in tonight, Miss Hermione?” Nazim clarified.

 

“Yes, please,” came the reply.

 

“Excellent! Sit wherever you would like.” Nazim gestured to the room, which was quite busy despite the small size of the restaurant and its out-of-the-way location.

 

Hermione, leading the way once again, selected a roomy table near the window, and they sat. 

 

Draco picked up a folded card propped up in the centre of the table and examined it. It featured a range of drink options, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. “So,” he started, putting the card back on the table, “what’s a banquet platter?”

 

“It’s heaven!” Hermione gushed. “The banquet platter has half a dozen different curries accompanied with rice, just enough to try each pairing; and samples of popular appetisers. You get onion bhaji, samosas, pakoras and spring rolls with dipping sauces. Plus naan bread, of course.”

 

“I don’t know what any of that is, but it sounds intriguing,” Draco replied. “I’m starving!”

 

“Good! You’ll be full afterwards!” Hermione grinned.

 

Just then Nakim approached. “The banquet platter will be out in a few minutes, Miss Hermione. Can I get you and Mister Draco some drinks?”

 

“Thank you, Nakim. Two beers, please,” Hermione smiled.

 

“Certainly!” he beamed, retreating to the bar and returning moments later with their drinks.

 

Hermione held up her beer. “Cheers.”

 

“Cheers.” Draco clinked the neck of his bottle against hers, and took a sip. He was pleasantly surprised. The beer was crisp, light and refreshing.

 

“One banquet platter, coming up!” announced a voice. Draco turned in the direction of the speaker to see a second man, shorter and stockier than Nakim, arrive at their table bearing a large tray.

 

“I have heard you have never tried an Indian curry before! After tonight, you will never go anywhere else!” the man enthused.

 

“He’s right.” Hermione nodded. “This is Ravi. He’s the head chef, and his skills are legendary.”

 

Ravi positively beamed at the praise. “You are too kind, Miss Hermione! It’s good to see you, as always!”

 

“And you. Thank you, Ravi.” Hermione smiled.

 

Ravi began setting out the dishes, with assistance from Nakim who had joined him bearing a second tray. Hermione watched Draco’s eyes widen as the food was laid out before them. 

 

“It looks amazing!” Draco observed. 

 

Once everything had been arranged between Hermione and Draco, Ravi and Nakim bade them, “enjoy your meal!” and retreated.

 

Draco examined the pewter bowls holding the curries. “What are they?” he asked, intrigued.

 

“Butter chicken.” Hermione pointed to the first bowl. “Lamb rogan josh, chicken tikka masala, vegetable biryani, chicken korma, and lamb vindaloo.” Indicating the appetisers, she described, “Onion bhaji, pakoras, spring rolls and samosas with dipping sauces; coriander-mint chutney, yoghurt chutney and a tomato chutney. And this—” she indicated a basket holding a flat bread with a flourish “—is garlic naan bread.”

 

Draco looked worried. “What do I do?”

 

Hermione grinned. “Try a little bit of everything, of course!” She picked up a spoon and scooped up a small amount of sauce and meat from one of the pewter dishes on to her plate, then used a second, clean spoon to add some rice. Next, she picked up a piece of the bread and tore off a chunk, adding it to her plate. Finally, she chose one of the appetisers, dipping it in a green sauce before bringing it to her mouth. “Mmmmm,” she moaned happily, closing her eyes in pleasure. 

 

Draco found it strangely erotic, and felt his cock twitch in response. Wanting to avoid embarrassing himself, he quickly followed Hermione’s lead, imitating the steps she had taken. Picking up one of the appetisers, he elected to try the white sauce and brought it to his mouth. The burst of savoury and tart flavours on his tongue both surprised and pleased him, and he could see why Hermione had reacted in such a way. It was  _ delicious. _

 

Hermione was aware of how closely Draco was watching her, and instead of making her uncomfortable, she found it amusing. She, Hermione Granger, showing Draco Malfoy how to go about eating a new dish. Picking up her naan bread, she dipped it in the curry before bringing it to her lips, followed with a forkful of meat and rice. Observing Draco out of the corner of her eye as he imitated her actions, she took a swig of beer.

 

Draco had tried the bread and found it delightfully chewy. Scooping a forkful of rice and meat into his mouth as Hermione had, he relished the tenderness of the meat and warmth of the curry. It was very warm as he swallowed. In fact—it was—it was  _ hot! _

 

Draco suddenly realised his mouth was burning. He grabbed up the pitcher of water that had been placed on the table when their food was served, and poured some into an empty glass. Trying to appear casual and unconcerned, he gulped back half the contents and was slightly horrified that it bought no relief. His eyes were watering and he was sure his face must be flushed. He looked over at Hermione in desperation and she giggled behind her hand.

 

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” She smirked.

 

“Um.. yes. Fine, thank you,” he croaked.

 

“Try the beer,” she suggested, indicating the bottle.

 

He did as advised and hurriedly swallowed a mouthful, sighing inwardly with relief as the burning feeling began to recede. “Thanks,” he muttered, embarrassed. “I didn’t think it would be quite so hot.” He frowned at her, feeling slightly put out at how she continued to laugh at his expense. “You could have warned me!”

 

“I could have,” she replied lightly, “but that wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining as watching you sweat.” She casually swigged from her own beer before taking another bite of her meal. “Oh, don’t pout, Malfoy.” She smiled. “It’s a rite of passage for anyone new to eating hot curries. It takes some getting used to, but you’ll become more accustomed to it.”

 

Braving another bite—because heat or no, the flavours were wonderful—he decided that if he took small bites of curry and accompanied them with regular sips of beer, he might just escape this strange but enjoyable meal with his esophagus intact. 

 

Silence descended as Draco and Hermione made their way through the remaining curries and appetisers. Navim helpfully kept up a regular supply of beer, so that by the time they had demolished most of the food, they both were beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol as well.

 

Draco knew he had a buzz on when he blurted out, “So why didn’t you correct Navim when he referred to me as your date?”

 

Hermione stilled, momentarily caught out by the question. “Um...” She paused, fiddling with her napkin. “I don’t know. I guess I got caught up in the excitement of introducing you to a food you hadn’t tried before.”

 

Draco had the feeling Hermione wasn’t being entirely forthright with him, but he didn’t want to make assumptions and get his hopes up. Still, he couldn’t avoid that flutter in his chest at the idea that she didn’t seem to find the idea of him as her date utterly repulsive. Wanting to change the subject and save either of them any further discomfort, Draco moved them on to the subject of work. “You work at the Ministry, right?” he asked. “What do you do?”

 

Hermione explained how she’d initially trained as an auror alongside Harry and Ron prior to working for Shacklebolt, but had found it just wasn’t for her. “I suppose I went along because it was expected.” She shrugged. “The Ministry and the Wizarding public expected the three of us to stay together, and in a way Ron, Harry and I assumed it was the natural thing to do, as well. I realised partway through the training that I was doing it for the wrong reasons, and withdrew.”

 

“So how did the Weasel and Potty react to you withdrawing?”

 

Hermione gave him her signature glare at his use of his old nicknames for her two best friends. “ _ Harry and Ron  _ both accepted my decision. Although—” she sighed “—Ron took longer to come around. He thought I was abandoning them, and him, at first. Harry had to talk some sense into him on my behalf.”

 

“And how did you come to work for Shacklebolt?”

 

She smiled fondly. “Well, that was Harry’s doing. A lot of people are under the impression that they owe him many favours, and he has no qualms whatsoever about using this to his full advantage. He spoke to Shacklebolt about finding me a position where I could continue my ‘crusade for change’, as he puts it. 

 

“Shacklebolt agreed and offered me a position as one of his assistants. Since then I’ve learned a great deal more about Wizarding traditions and law, and have had the opportunity to be involved in improving and changing aspects of society that were overdue for review.” She sighed. “But, there’s only so far politics can take me as an assistant, and it’s hard work. I enjoy it still, but I’m not sure I want to do it long term.”

 

“What do you  _ really _ want to do?” Draco asked, curiously. 

 

“Teach,” she replied immediately. 

 

“Why?”

 

“I love learning,” she said simply. “Besides, I helped Harry and Ron with schoolwork so often during our years at school that it became something of a hobby. As much as it annoyed me when they didn’t pay attention in lessons or procrastinated over completing assignments, I liked the feeling of sharing knowledge and seeing them learn a new skill with my help.”

 

“Why don’t you contact McGonagall, then?” Draco suggested. “I’m sure she would be more than happy to have one of her favourite students marching the halls once again,” he teased.

 

Hermione coloured. “Well.. I don’t think I was her favourite—”

 

“You  _ were! _ ” Draco countered. “She let you lot get away with far more than she would have allowed from any other student. It drove Sev mad.” his expression turned sad as he remembered his former head of house. “Anyway,” he continued, “I think you should contact her regardless. It never hurts to ask.”

 

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe...” she murmured unconvincingly. She stared off into the distance for a few moments and swigged on her beer. Suddenly focusing on Draco again, she abruptly asked, “What’s with that owl of yours, anyway?” When Draco gave her a blank look, she continued. “He has no manners. He came barging into my sitting room like he owned the place, got impatient with me and—” she tried to remain serious, but couldn’t help giggling “—he whacked me in the face with a wing when I was slow to fetch the treats. He—” she began giggling harder and she remembered the animal’s haughty attitude and mannerisms “—he reminded me of  _ you _ at school!”

 

Draco began laughing with her. “I’m sorry about that. Aeneas is a snob and terribly recalcitrant to boot. He deliberately does things his way.” Shaking his head in exasperation, Draco proceeded to tell Hermione about the previous evening when he had summoned the owl, describing the slow response and the rodent. “—and so—” he chuckled “—I was so distracted by Aeneas’ style of departure and chastising myself for not asking him to wait for your reply, that I sat down in my chair without thinking.”

 

Hermione, who had been giggling along with Draco as he recounted his confrontation with the owl, widened her eyes in surprise and covered her mouth. Pulling her hand away, she gasped, “Oh no! You didn’t—?”

 

“I did.” Draco tried to contain his laughter. “I sat down directly in a pile of rodent innards, feathers and dust.”

 

Hermione threw back her head and laughed uproariously. Gasping and trying to return her breathing to normal, she wiped her eyes with her napkin. “Oh, I wish I could have seen your face!” She snorted. “It would have been priceless.”

 

“I’m pleased my soiled trousers are such a source of amusement for you.” Draco sniffed haughtily, trying to suppress a smile.

 

Still giggling, Hermione said, “I’m not going to let you live this down, you know.” She smiled wickedly at him.

 

“Don’t make me hex you, Granger,” he grumbled, finishing his beer.

 

Hermione eyed him mischievously. “You haven’t got the  _ guts, _ ” she teased.

 

Draco groaned. Looking at his watch, he was surprised at how long they had been at the restaurant. “Do you want to go for a butterbeer?” he asked quietly. The alcohol must be really doing a number on him, as he had been able to ask without agonising over it for several minutes beforehand; it had just popped out.

 

Hermione checked her own watch and sighed regretfully. “I’d best head home soon, actually. Athena might be waiting for me with a reply.” 

 

Draco tried to hide his disappointment. “I understand.” Remembering what she had said earlier regarding Greek mythology, he added, “I like the name you’ve chosen. I always did admire Athena for her courage and wisdom.”

 

“Me, too.” Hermione smiled. “To me she is symbolic of the base ideas of feminism.”

 

Draco frowned in confusion. “What is feminism?”

 

Hermione brightened. “It’s a muggle concept. Basically, it promotes equality between the sexes and argues that women should not be constrained by typical gender norms or expectations, and deserve to be regarded on par with men.”

 

“Well, that seems reasonable,” Draco mused.

 

“It’s funny you should say that,” Hermione replied, her expression serious. “Some of the more traditional practices and expectations of Wizarding society are—well—somewhat at odds with the concept of feminism.”

 

“How so?” Draco asked, curious now.

 

“Well, for example, one of the ideas feminism promotes is the right of women to seek and retain a career, even if they choose to have children. It also promotes the right of the woman to choose whether she wants to have children at all.”

 

“But witches normally bear children when they marry and then stay at home with them, at least until they begin their formal education.” Draco frowned.

 

“ _ Exactly _ ! _ ”  _ Hermione responded vehemently. “It’s archaic! Witches should be given the right to choose whether they want to get married, have children and stay at home, or pursue other avenues in life.”

 

“But  _ why? _ ” Draco argued. “Witches help continue the family line and are best placed to care for the children because—” he stopped abruptly at the knowing look she was giving him.

 

“Because...?” she prompted.

 

“Well, because—” Draco stopped himself from speaking further. He strongly felt that any answer he gave would prove to reflect poorly on him.

 

“Hah! You can’t think of a good reason why, can you?” Hermione responded triumphantly.

 

“I can think of good reasons!” Draco retorted defensively. “They’re good reasons for much of Wizarding society, even if they aren’t for you with your muggle concepts!”

 

Hermione glared at him. “Your ‘good reasons’—” she made air quotes to emphasise “—are supporting the patriarchy!”

 

“Yes, well, the patriarchy rules for a reason! Even if I don’t know what that is!” Draco sniped. 

  
Hermione huffed in response, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Well of course  _ you _ wouldn’t!” she muttered.

 

The two sat in sullen silence for several minutes, until they were startled out of their tiff by a quiet, “ _ Ahem.” _

 

Draco and Hermione looked up in surprise to see Navim standing awkwardly at their table. “May I take your plates?” he asked quietly. 

 

Hermione and Draco nodded, and he began to clear the table, stacking the empty dishes on the tray. “Would you like to see the dessert menu? Any coffee or tea?” he asked as he worked. 

 

“Not for me, thanks,” Hermione declined. “I should be going, anyway.”

 

Draco sighed. “Me, too.” 

 

Navim nodded and retreated toward the kitchen, carrying the tray.

 

Hermione stood up. “I’ll go settle the bill,” she announced.

 

Frowning, Draco put up a hand to stop her. “No, please let me get it.”

 

“Absolutely not. I chose the restaurant and the menu, so I’ll cover it.”

 

“But  _ I  _ invited  _ you _ to dinner. It would be improper for you to pay.”

 

“According to whom?” Hermione challenged. Her eyes dared him to argue further, to say that wizards, not witches, should pay for meals or make some other form of protest. 

 

Draco sighed in defeat. “At least let me split the bill with you?” he asked without much hope.

 

“No,” came the firm reply. 

 

Before he could say another word, she had walked away from him and over to the counter where Navim was waiting. 

 

Draco watched as Hermione passed what appeared to be a small plastic card to Navim, who then swiped it through some sort of small box and handed it back to her. She pushed some buttons on another box-like thing attached to the first by a cord, then a piece of paper appeared which Navim tore off and handed back to Hermione, along with the plastic card. Draco had seen muggles in the Blue Jazzist use this method of payment several times but did not know what it was or how it worked.

 

He stood up and walked over to the counter. “Thank you, Navim. The meal was delicious. Please pass on my thanks and compliments to Ravi.”

 

Navim smiled. “Ravi will be pleased, and thank you for coming, Mr Draco. I hope to see you here again soon with Miss Hermione, yes?” He winked.

 

Draco simply nodded and smiled in response. He wasn’t sure if he would get another chance to eat at The Charming Tiger, or indeed at any establishment, with Hermione again. He sensed she was still rather put out with him, and if truth be told, he was a little put out with her as well.

 

They left the restaurant and Hermione led the way again, heading back toward the park. She was walking slightly ahead of him and he increased his stride so he could draw even with her.

 

“Granger.” He put his hand on her arm to halt her, and she turned to look at him, her face carefully neutral. “Look… I won’t pretend to understand your views. I know they’re different from what I’ve been raised to expect. But I’m not going to automatically agree with yours just because you think mine are wrong.”

 

She started to protest and he held up his hand, indicating he wasn’t done. “I’m also not saying I’m not open to hearing more about your views and reconsidering my stance on some things, given time on my part and adequate reasoning on yours. Just… let’s not allow our opposing viewpoints in this subject prevent us from getting along.”

 

Hermione sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I apologise if I was out of order. It’s a subject I feel strongly about.”

 

Draco smiled. “I can tell. And you weren’t out of order. Just bossy.” He smirked, and she poked her tongue out at him in response. “Truce?” he asked, extending his hand.

 

“Truce,” Hermione agreed, taking it. They shook and then stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither knowing what to do next. Hermione took charge by beginning to walk again, and they re-entered the park in peaceful silence. 

 

“What was that box thing you used to pay for the meal?” Draco asked curiously. “I’ve seen muggles use it before, but how does it work?”

 

Hermione looked at him in amusement. “If you’d taken muggle studies, you would know. It was covered in fifth year.”

 

Draco snorted. “Can you imagine  _ me— _ well, the Hogwarts me—taking  _ muggle studies? _ Besides,” he added with a wry smile, “my father would have beaten me senseless.”

 

“But that’s horrid! It’s child abuse!” Hermione gasped.

 

Draco shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been the first time. He was quick to anger.”

 

Hermione looked at him in sympathy. “It’s wrong, regardless. Parents should never raise a hand to their children.” Moving the subject back to its original direction, she explained, “I used a payment card. It’s an electronic transaction; the card is connected to your bank. The card is swiped through the machine and the due amount is electronically deducted from your bank balance, and then transferred to the account of the establishment you’re paying at.”

 

“I see,” Draco replied, though he didn’t really. He didn’t understand electronics or the multiple ways in which they seemed to work at all.

 

“Well, I’ll be off. I hope you enjoyed your first Indian dining experience.” Hermione grinned at the memory of Draco’s initial reaction to the hot curry.

 

“I did, once I got over the shock.” He grinned back. “Thank you for the evening.” He paused. “Let me know once you hear from Weasley and Wood.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

 

“Goodnight, Granger.”

 

Draco waited until Hermione had departed before turning on the spot and apparating away with a sharp  _ crack _ .

* * *

Hermione arrived home and immediately opened the sitting room window, calling for Athena. The owl appeared from within the boughs of a nearby tree and flew gracefully through the window, landing on her perch. She looked weary but pleased at she held out her leg to reveal two letters attached to it. Hermione retrieved the items then fetched the treat jar, feeding them to Athena, who gobbled them down gratefully.

 

“Thank you, Athena. You’re as speedy as ever.” Hermione praised, gently stroking the owl’s feathers. Athena hooted contentedly before flufflng out her feathers and closing her eyes, clearly ready for a well-deserved sleep.

 

Hermione took the letters to her chair by the window, first opening the one from Charlie.   
  


_ Dear Hermione,  _ it read. 

_   
_ _ How wonderful to hear from you again. I’m sorry to hear about what has happened at your club, and of course I will be more than happy to help. I can spare a couple of weekends away. I’ll come down to London Wednesday evening for the group meet, and head back to Romania Thursday after lunch. Can you please owl mum and let her know to expect me Wednesday evening to stay? _

_   
_ _ See you in a couple of days. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Love, Charlie. Xx

_   
_ _ P.S your owl flies like a champ. She could give some of the Dragons a run for their money. _

 

Hermione smiled at the familiar warmth in Charlie’s letter and felt a glimmer of excitement at seeing him again. It had been far too long since he had last visited England. Turning to the second letter, she broke the seal and removed Oliver’s reply. It was much more short and to the point than Charlie’s, simply reading,   
  
_ Anything for the lioness. Let me know when the meeting will be held and I’ll be there. Maybe we can get a drink, too? Xx _ __   
  


Hermione giggled and rolled her eyes at Oliver’s flirtiness. It wasn’t a behaviour exclusively reserved for her; Oliver simply loved women and naturally flirted with just about any female he came into contact with. He was truly incorrigible. 

 

Hermione decided she would reply to Oliver and inform Malfoy of the proposed date tomorrow; Athena was exhausted and it would be unkind to ask her to deliver any more mail tonight. 

 

Instead, she sat and mused over her dinner with Malfoy. It had been less uncomfortable than their tea the previous day, certainly. She caught herself smiling slightly and was shocked at the realisation that she had… actually had a good time. 

 

Malfoy’s eagerness to try something new, coupled with his being caught unawares by the strong flavours, had been strangely endearing. The conversation had flowed freely and she had been surprised to discover he was a vibrant and energetic storyteller. She giggled again at the memory of his description of Aeneas’ stubborn and defiant nature, then frowned as she recalled how quickly they had gone from laughing together to having a heated disagreement. 

 

She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; not really. She and Malfoy were sitting at opposite ends of the societal spectrum. He was a spoiled, wealthy pureblood who was descended from an ancient magical line, and part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; she was a muggleborn, with an ordinary middle-class upbringing and dentists for parents. 

 

They had disagreed on just about everything while they were at Hogwarts, and she shouldn’t expect that they would suddenly share the same views just because they had put aside the animosity they held toward each other previously.

 

Hermione then remembered Nakim referring to Malfoy as her date, and her evasive reply when Malfoy had later asked why she hadn’t corrected Nakim. She wondered that herself;  _ why _ had she brushed the comment, and Malfoy’s question, aside? It  _ wasn’t _ a date, was it? Just two people who had previously hated each other trying to find common ground and begin again, surely? 

 

But why, then, did she recall the way he became animated when telling a story, or how eager he was to try something new? Why did she notice the dimple at the corner of his mouth when he smiled, or the way his eyes had sparkled when he joked about hexing her? 

 

She was pulled from her musings by a tap at her window. Turning, Hermione was surprised to see Aeneas eyeing her through the glass. She rose and quickly went to let him in. He glared at her as he entered, and she hastily retrieved the jar of treats. Seemingly mollified by her gesture, he held out his leg so she could untie the letter and quickly gobbed the food, looking with disinterest around the room.    
  


Opening the letter, she read,   
  
_ Dear Granger, _

_   
_ _ I wondered if your owl has returned, and deduced that if she has she will be too tired to fly any further tonight. I have sent Aeneas in anticipation, so he can deliver any mail you need to send this evening. He’ll be disagreeable about being asked to carry out additional deliveries, but he’ll get over it. Although, it might be wise to bribe him with some meat, if you have any. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Regards,

_   
_ _ Draco _

 

Hermione was touched by his thoughtfulness. 

 

She looked over at Aeneas. “Some meat, huh?” 

 

The owl lifted his head in interest at the word ‘meat’. “Come on, then.” 

 

She led the way into the kitchen. Looking into her fridge, she found some leftover chicken from her dinner the previous evening. Removing the plate, she placed it on the kitchen counter, and Aeneas set to eating it eagerly.

 

While he was eating, Hermione headed back into her sitting room to pen letters to Oliver, Molly, and Malfoy. Thinking a private room at The Three Broomsticks would be the best place to meet, she suggested a time and the location to the two former Hogwarts students. Next she wrote a note for Molly to inform her she should expect Charlie to stay on Wednesday evening, as he had requested.

 

“Aeneas!” she called when she was done. The owl hopped down from the counter and across the floor, the last piece of chicken in his beak. “Can you please take these letters to Oliver Wood and Molly Weasley?” she asked. 

 

The owl bobbed his head once in acceptance and jumped up onto the arm of the couch, holding out his foot so she could attach the letters. 

 

“There’s one here for Malfoy, too,” she explained. Reaching out gingerly, she gently stroked his head. “You’re very handsome,” she told him. “Thank you for helping me while Athena is resting.” 

 

Aeneas puffed up proudly at the complement and hooted at her kindly, before making his way across the room and out the window, disappearing into the purple darkness.

* * *

 

**_The Three Broomsticks, Wednesday evening_ **

Draco paced nervously in an upstairs room, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. He had received Hermione’s response on Monday evening and had been surprised to observe Aeneas was not nearly as put out as he had expected following the owl’s return. Upon reading her reply he had immediately Flooed Blaise and Theo to update them, and had spent the remaining time up until now in a state of excitement and trepidation; excitement, because he would see Hermione again, and trepidation because he had no idea how Wood might react when faced with three former Slytherins in the room whom he was expected to get along with.

 

The door opened and his head snapped up, his heart hammering nervously in his chest. He relaxed visibly when he saw the arrivals were his friends. Blaise was carrying a bottle of firewhiskey and three glasses. 

 

“Granger’s downstairs with Weasley and Wood,” the dark-skinned wizard announced. “Wood looked pissed off, but Weasley seemed to be trying to calm him down.” Blaise poured nips into the three glasses as he spoke, handing one to Draco and Theo before picking up his own.

 

“Shit,” muttered Draco, his nervousness back. Abruptly he knocked back the entire contents of his glass and quickly poured another, his hand shaking slightly.

 

“Easy, Drake,” Theo soothed, placing a comforting hand on Draco’s arm. “I think between Granger and Weasley, everything’s under control. They won’t let Wood do anything rash.” 

 

Draco nodded, though he wasn’t so sure.

 

The three men turned toward the door as they heard voices and footsteps approaching.

* * *

  
Hermione had debated the best way to manage the meeting in order to prevent any violence, and came to the conclusion she should confess to Charlie and Oliver once they arrived at The Three Broomsticks, before they all went upstairs to the room Malfoy had reserved. 

 

It was for this reason she found herself perched on a barstool, nervously waiting the arrival of her two fellow Gryffindors. She knew Malfoy had arrived not long before and was already waiting upstairs, as the barman on duty had informed her she could go up whenever she was ready.

 

The bell over the door rang and Oliver stepped into the room. He glanced around quickly and, spying Hermione, strode over to her with a cheeky smile on his face. “Hello, my lioness,” he greeted, kissing her on the cheek. 

 

“Hello, Oliver.” Hermione smiled. “Thanks for coming along. Charlie should be here soon.”

 

“Oho! You didn’t tell me it was  _ that _ kind of a meet,” he replied, giving her a lewd wink.

 

Hermione laughed and gave him a gentle shove on the arm. “You  _ know _ it’s not that kind of a meet, you arse,” she chided.

 

Oliver sighed theatrically. “A man can only dream.” 

 

Just then, the bell tinkled again and Charlie walked in. The second-eldest Weasley was an imposing presence. He was tall and muscular, and wore his fiery red hair long, almost to his shoulders. 

 

_ He gets more good-looking every time I see him,  _ Hermione thought to herself as he spotted them and wandered over.

 

“Hey Hermione, Wood,” Charlie greeted them, shaking hands with Oliver and embracing Hermione. “Merlin, you’re beautiful,” he complimented her. “My brother was a fool to let you go.”

 

Hermione blushed at the compliment. “We just weren’t suited to one another.” She shrugged. “If we’d remained together, it would have been a disaster. He’s much better paired with Lav.”

 

“So are you currently single, Hermione?” Wood asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“I am, but I am a one-man kind of woman. I don’t like to share.” She grinned, referring to Oliver’s tendency to date multiple witches at a time. “Right. A bit of business before we go up.” She took a deep breath. “I feel I should warn you both beforehand; the people we’re meeting are Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, and… Draco Malfoy.”

 

Charlie simply frowned slightly, but Oliver burst out, “ _ What? _ In Merlin’s name,  _ why? _ Why would those snakes help anyone outside of their own house? Especially Malfoy, that super snake! He—” Oliver stopped, and looked at Hermione closely. “You’re not under the imperius curse, are you, Hermione?” he asked worriedly. He pulled out his wand, apparently intending to cast a revealing charm, but Charlie stopped him.

 

“I’m sure Hermione isn’t being influenced by Malfoy or anyone else,” Charlie interjected, trying to calm the other wizard down.

 

“Thank you, Charlie,” Hermione said quietly. “I’m not under the imperius curse, nor am I being coerced in any other way. I’m here of my own free will.” She had seen Theo and Blaise arrive a few moments ago out of the corner of her eye, but Charlie and Oliver had not noticed them. “Let me explain in full.” 

 

She signalled for drinks, and started from the beginning, explaining how Malfoy had come to be involved with the club and his concern for the muggles who worked there, their subsequent discussion and carefully formed truce, and the present situation.

 

“... so Malfoy has convinced Nott and Zabini to help out as well. Larry is expected to be off work for at least a month and maybe up to six weeks. John definitely longer, because of his broken leg and dislocated shoulder. With four people rotating three nights a week, it might just be doable without disrupting anyone’s prior commitments too heavily.”

 

Charlie nodded, although Oliver did not look entirely convinced.

 

“Please, Oliver?” Hermione asked, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’m sure they will all be on their best behaviour. Malfoy in particular has been trying very hard not to be a complete and utter prat these days.”

 

Oliver sighed. “How can I resist when you ask so prettily?” he conceded. “All right, but I  _ will _ hex him if he puts a foot wrong.”

 

“Thank you, Oliver.” Hermione smiled at him. “Shall we go up?” she asked, addressing both men. 

 

They nodded, and the three headed up the stairs. 

* * *

 

“Well, that went as well as can be expected,” Draco mused.

 

“Considering no one was hexed, I’d say it went very well,” Theo replied with a wry grin.

 

The meeting had been quite productive, despite some initial tension between Wood and the Slytherins. They had set up a schedule of rotating shifts which would cover the three nights a week the club was open for the next four weeks. Draco had offered to compensate each of them for their time, but Blaise and Theo had declined, noting that they didn’t need the additional money and were happy to do it as a favour to him. However, Blaise had said, he would happily accept bottles of expensive alcohol from Draco as a token of his thanks. Charlie and Oliver had eventually accepted the offer after encouragement from Hermione, and the matter was settled. Hermione had not long left, with Wood and Weasley accompanying her.

 

“Wood seemed to have his roving eye firmly on Granger,” Blaise noted. “I’m surprised he was able to pay attention to anything else that was going on.”

 

Draco gritted his teeth. He had noticed Wood continually flirting with and eyeing Hermione too, and he hadn’t liked it in the slightest. His hand had itched to reach for his wand on several occasions, and he had barely managed to maintain an outward air of indifference. 

 

“Of course,” Blaise continued, seemingly oblivious to Draco’s reaction, “she  _ is _ pretty good looking. She’s really grown into her figure, and her hair is far less of a fright.”

 

“Shut it, Zabini,” Draco growled.

 

“What did I say?” Blaise exclaimed indignantly. “I’m just making an observation. I’m not going to steal her from you, Malfoy. Unless,” he added with a teasing grin, “you fuck it up somehow. Then I might have to move in.”

 

Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at the dark-skinned wizard. “Not funny, Zabini,” he said tightly.

 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Theo interrupted, stepping between them.

 

“Draco, you’re not going to fuck it up. If it’s going to happen, it will. Just relax and let things progress.” Turning to Blaise, he continued, “As for you, stop teasing him. We both know you would never do that to a friend.” Turning back to Draco, he looked him in the eye and repeated, “He would  _ never _ do that to a friend.”

 

Draco sighed and put his wand away. “You’re right.” Turning to Blaise, he added, “I apologise. I know you wouldn’t make a move on her, even if I do fuck it up.” He paused. “I just hope I don’t.”

 

Blaise waved away Draco’s apology. “Are you kidding? You’re  _ Draco Malfoy _ . Malfoys always get what they want.”

 

“Not always,” Draco countered quietly, thinking of the actions forced upon him in his final years at Hogwarts, and his inability to prevent the killing of his mother.

 

“Just try not to overthink it,” Theo contributed. “She seems more at ease with you, and that’s a good start. You’ve even had your first argument already, and she’s still around. Give it time and keep talking to her.” 

 

“I wish it were that easy,” Draco replied. “Taking my time, I mean. I feel like if I throw this away, if I drive her away or she rejects me, that’s it for me. I just—” he looked helplessly at his two best friends, afraid to say the words out loud “—I feel like this— _ she— _ is my last chance at redemption. I’ve got nothing else left to motivate me to do better.”   
  


“Well then, you’ll just have to win her over,” Theo replied firmly. Blaise nodded in agreement.   
  


Draco nodded silently. He just hoped he could live up to their expectations, and Hermione’s, in the coming weeks and months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from you!   
> What do you think so far?


	8. The curse breaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to CourtingInsanity - without you, my writing would not be the same!
> 
> There's a bit of action in this chapter, hold on for the ride!

**_The Blue Jazzist, Saturday 26th August_**

 

Draco arrived at the club at his usual time, about half an hour before Hermione was due to perform. Wood and Weasley were on the door tonight. He nodded to them as he arrived. Wood glared at him, but Weasley smiled and clapped Draco on the shoulder.

 

“Alright, Malfoy?” Weasley greeted cordially.

 

Draco returned the greeting and headed inside to say hello to Roger. It had been three weeks since the stand-in rosters had begun, and there had been very few issues, to Roger’s immense relief. Draco had kept in regular touch with Larry and John, and both men were recovering slowly but steadily.

 

Looking around the main room, Draco spotted Roger sitting at the bar chatting to Lloyd and made his way over.

 

“Evening, Draco!” Lloyd greeted him happily.

 

“Hey, Lloyd,” Draco replied. “Surprise me with the mocktails tonight.”

 

“Give ‘im the alcoholic version for once,” suggested Roger, winking at Draco. “I don’t think he’s going to go scrapping at this point in time, not with our Hermione so ready to kick his arse.” He grinned playfully.

 

Lloyd laughed and turned to make a drink, while Draco sat beside Roger and they began chatting about nothing in particular. Before they knew it, the band was setting up and the house lights had dimmed.

 

_“At last… my love has come along_

_My lonely days are over and life is like a song…”_

 

Draco turned toward the stage as the house lights rose again, taking a sip of his drink, and spluttered at the sight before him. Hermione was wearing the green dress and shoes he had gifted her over a month ago - the dress that had ultimately unmasked him. She looked absolutely stunning, so much so he was rendered momentarily speechless.

 

“Hey, Draco.” Roger nudged him in the arm. “Isn’t that the getup you gave Hermione? You know, the one that she got upset about?”

 

Draco could only nod in reply.

 

“It suits her,” Lloyd chimed in. “You have good taste, Draco.”

 

“She looks exquisite,” Draco murmured, finally finding his voice.

 

The two men alongside him snicked. “He’s got it bad, I think,” Lloyd observed.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was pleased she had kept the dress and shoes Malfoy had given her just prior to the robbery at the club. The dress moulded perfectly to her curvy figure and the shoes were surprisingly comfortable - so much so, she suspected they had been charmed.

 

As she stood on stage, completing the final song of her set, she found herself feeling… nervous? Excited? She couldn’t quite place the emotion. She knew Malfoy would be in the audience - he had resumed coming to the club every weekend since they had called their truce - and she wondered if he remembered the dress, and if he liked how it looked on her. She would have to thank him. It seemed he had excellent taste in women’s clothing, after all.

 

She began the final verse of her song:

 

 _“_ _He gave her his townhouse and his racing horses_

_Each meal she ate was a dozen courses_

_She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes_

_She sat around and counted them all a million times_ _!”_  
_  
_ The audience enthusiastically supported her through the final chorus, and joined her in finishing, “...poor Min, poor Min, poor Min!”  

 

Elated, she exited the stage to the usual applause, whistles and cheers.

 

Making her way through the room, she looked around for Malfoy and saw him sitting at the bar with Roger. As she drew closer, she observed the blond man staring, while Roger and Lloyd were smirking as if they shared a secret she wasn’t privy to.

 

“Hello,” she greeted the three men. “What have you lot been talking about?”

 

“Nothing,” Draco, Lloyd and Roger chorused.

 

Hermione scrutinised them closely, until Roger finally cleared his throat and said, “Well, we were admiring the pretty dress you’re wearing tonight.”

 

“Oh, you mean this little thing?” Hermione smiled coyly, looking at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Wherever did you find it, Granger?” Malfoy drawled.

 

Hermione smirked. “Oh, some blond prat left in in my dressing room one evening.”

 

“I think I know the bloke,” Roger chipped in, winking. “Some toff with a fancy way of speaking, isn’t he?”

 

“I know him too,” added Lloyd thoughtfully. “Likes mocktails. He’s tried everything on our menu at least once.”

 

“Sounds like my twin brother,” Draco quipped.

 

Everybody laughed merrily, and Hermione sat down on a stool beside Malfoy.

 

“You knocked ‘em dead as usual, love,” Roger complimented her. “You had them eating out of your hand.”

 

Hermione blushed, ducking her head and smiling. Thank you, Roger.” Turning to Lloyd, she ordered a whiskey and lemonade, and nodded her thanks when he placed it before her. “A girl really works up a thirst, singing under those hot lights.” She sighed, taking a sip of her drink.

 

Roger stood. “I’d better go and do some work.” He sighed regretfully. Clapping Draco on the shoulder and smiling at Hermione, he said, “Don’t you kids cause too much trouble, now,” before departing.

 

Lloyd had moved down the bar to serve other patrons, so Draco was able to chat to Hermione without being heard.

 

“How is the draft proposal to consider muggle-borns for seats on the Wizengamot going?” he asked.

 

Hermione sighed. “Terribly, to be honest. We expected pushback from the remaining members of the Twenty-Eight, but we’re also facing an unexpectedly high level of opposition from half-blood families.”

 

For some time, Kingsley had been trying to change the thinking and traditions of many aspects of Wizarding society, including how members of the Wizengamot were appointed. Although there was no official statute stating muggle-born witches and wizards were ineligible for a position, it was notoriously difficult - if not almost impossible - for a muggle-born to be granted a seat.

 

Traditionally, when a seat within the Wizengamot was vacated, potential new members were nominated and voted in by the existing members, which tended to lead to aggressive campaigning and popularity voting. Alternatively, seats would be ‘passed down’ through the generations, with the assumption that the family was entitled to retain the seat in perpetuity.

 

Kingsley wished to encourage diversity, removing any biases and prejudices from the selection process by introducing a series of competency tests and background checks. Potential new members would then be entered into a ballot and a name randomly drawn. Although it was anticipated the families with pureblood lineage would be most opposed to the proposal, the Ministry had hoped to garner more support from the half-blood wizarding population due to their closer connections with muggle-borns.

 

Draco shook his head. “That would be extremely frustrating. Are those opposed saying why?”

 

Hermione growled in frustration. “Mostly a lot of crap about tradition and how there should be an established order based on who the Wizengamot thinks is best for the job.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “In other words, they don’t want to let the riff-raff in, they’d rather keep letting their mates have the seats, thank you very much.”

 

“I could come out publicly in support of it,” Draco mused. “Although, it might do more harm than good. Most of Wizarding society seems to think me either a murdering Dark wizard or a blood traitor, so it could have the opposite effect and make people more opposed to the idea.”

 

“It would be good for shock value, though.” Hermione giggled.

 

Just then, Charlie appeared. “Hey, Malfoy. There’s a bloke outside asking for you. Tall, skinny, dark hair. Says ‘tell that low-down snake in the grass to slither out here.’“

 

“Shit,” Draco growled. “I’m sorry, Granger. I have to go. Business.”

 

Without another word he turned and followed Charlie out of the room, leaving Hermione to stare after him, utterly perplexed.

* * *

 

**_Somewhere in Surrey, late Saturday night_ **

 

Draco arrived in what appeared to be a field, having been apparated side-along with Spencer, the wizard who had summoned him so abruptly from the Blue Jazzist with the agreed code phrase. It meant, _suspect located, positive ID made, dark magic expected. Move quickly._

 

Spencer began to move hurriedly away into the dark and Draco quickly followed, easily keeping pace. “Is it Yaxley?” he asked, his tone short and businesslike.

 

“Yes,” Spencer replied in a similarly curt tone. “We’ve traced him to an abandoned farmhouse. The wards around the perimeter are many and strong. Trying to bring them down will probably alert him if not taken down with care, and they’re sure to be cursed. We also expect other traps, so tread carefully.”

 

Draco nodded. “Understood.”

 

The two men moved in silence for several minutes until Spencer held up his hand, indicating they should stop. “We think the wards start in front of us. The farmhouse is there.” Spencer pointed to his left, where Draco could just make out a faint shadow in the blackness.

 

Draco lifted a hand, whispering a spell of his own creation designed to detect even the most carefully hidden wards. “I feel it,” he muttered. “There are at least half a dozen layers, interspersed with dark magic. I’m going to circle around and map the perimeter. Tell the others to stay well back.”

 

“ _Le briseur de malédiction est ici. Reste en arrière.”_ Spencer’s patronus, a delicate sparrow, sped into the night to spread the message.

Draco began his patrol, maintaining the ward detection spell while casting an invisible path tracing both his footsteps and the barrier in front of him. The wards didn’t follow in straight lines, instead moving in toward the farmhouse and then out again, forcing him to carefully think about every step he took and remain alert.

 

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how painfully slow the monitoring process was, instead focusing all his concentration on filtering his magic into his tasks. One moment of inattention or distraction could set off the wards and alert Yaxley to their presence, or set off a trap that could injure or kill him or one of the Aurors anxiously waiting for Draco to gather the data they would need to plan their next move.

 

Painstakingly over nearly one hour, Draco completed a loop, successfully mapping the full boundary of the farmhouse Yaxley was hiding in and the wards he had set up along the perimeter. Finally, he met with Spencer to fill him in.

 

“Yaxley’s wards are extensive and complicated,” Draco explained. “I can’t yet tell what other traps, if any, lie beyond. However we shouldn’t assume the wards are only potential issue we’re dealing with.”

 

Taking his wand, Draco made a complicated series of movements and a 3D map of the farmhouse and surrounding area appeared in front of them. A wandering series of lines glowing in angry shades of crimson, amber and gold bordered the building, sweeping in and out seemingly at random.

 

“These lines represent the wards,” Draco continued. There were seven in total - two crimson lines, followed by one of amber, then gold, crimson, a second amber and finally a third crimson line. “The crimson lines indicate the most complicated wards; the amber of middling difficulty and the gold is actually relatively basic.” He indicated each of the shades in turn.

 

“I suspect the placing of the wards in this order is designed to lull the persons attempting to take down the wards into a false sense of security,” Draco theorised. “The aim is to make us think we’re breaking through as the wards appear to become easier to take down. It will also sap the magic of anyone working alone, making them more prone to mistakes when they attempt the next crimson ward - and that will only be the first of three difficult layers.” He sighed.

 

“Spencer, there is no way of getting Yaxley tonight. I know your department has been chasing him since the war and there is pressure on you to deliver, but if we attempt to breach now, people will die and he will escape.”

 

Spencer cursed quietly. “Fuck! We’d really hoped to take him down tonight.” He paused and looked over at Draco. “But if we do nothing, we risk him escaping again, and that could set us back months.” The Auror looked anguished.

 

“I’m sorry, Spencer. There’s no better option,” Draco answered regretfully. “I can break through these wards, given time, but I need to plan all my moves well ahead. Strategy is going to be the key, and the aurors will need to be well briefed, in position and ready to move within a moment’s notice.” He paused, thinking. “Who is your best strategist? I’m going to need someone who knows your team’s strengths and abilities well to coordinate with me on this and direct your movements.”

 

“Weasley,” Spencer replied without hesitation. “He may be a hothead, but I’ll be damned if I know anyone who can beat him at strategising and planning several moves ahead.”

 

Draco groaned inwardly. He had been afraid Spencer would name Weasley. His reputation for being an exceptionally skilled strategist was well known in wizarding society, and his uncanny ability to not only think ahead but to adapt quickly to unexpected changes had earned him a top-level role in the auror department.

 

“How soon can you get him here?” Draco asked.

 

“Within minutes. He’s patrolling the north quadrant,” replied Spencer.

 

“Do it,” Draco instructed. “Oh, and Spencer?” Draco added as the man began to turn away “You might want to warn him who he’s going to be working with. We didn’t exactly get on while we were at Hogwarts. He’s going to be pissed.”

 

Spencer simply nodded and disapparated. Draco used the down time to begin thinking about how he was going to break through the wards, and what other issues they were likely to face in the process of moving in.

 

His thoughts were interrupted as Spencer apprated beside him with Weasley in tow. The red-headed man looked inscenced.

 

“Don’t you have anyone else?” Ron hissed at Spencer angrily. “Surely you’ve got some other bloke who can get through the wards, someone who isn’t a foul ferrety git and a former _death eater!_ ” Ron had pointedly refused to look in Draco’s direction.

 

Spencer lifted his hand to his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “No, Weasely, we don’t. Malfoy is the most skilled curse breaker in Britain. These wards are no walk in the park and if they’re not tackled carefully it could result in disaster.”

 

He looked up again and met the red-headed man’s eyes as Draco watched on. “You are our best strategist, Weasley. Malfoy—” Spencer gestured behind him, indicating Draco “—says he needs the best man for the job to work with him and coordinate things from our end while he concentrates on stripping down the wards.”

 

Ron glared, but said nothing.

 

“Weasley,” Draco spoke quietly. He felt encouraged when his former rival looked in his direction. “If you want to smack me around, can you save it for after this mission is completed?” He took a deep breath, not wanting to utter his next words but knowing they would be vital in convincing Weasley to put aside his personal issues and work with him. “I can’t do this alone. I need your skills.” He looked Ron directly in the eye. “I need your help.”

 

Ron looked from Spencer to Draco, his face red with anger. After a contemplating for a few moments, he sighed. “I suppose I have no choice.” He regarded Draco with hostility. “But you’re still a prick, and I’l hex you if you so much as twitch in the wrong way.”

 

Draco bit back the cruel reply that threatened to burst forth, and instead held up his hands in supplication. Gesturing for Weasley to join him, he conjured the 3D-map with its lines once more and ran Weasley through the details as he had Spencer.

 

“There are bound to be traps inside the wards as well as in between them,” Draco explained. “I won’t be able to detect them all, as I’ll have to focus all my concentration on stripping the wards without tripping any and alerting Yaxley to our presence. This is where I’ll need you.”

 

Ron nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“I need you to think like Yaxley,” Draco answered. “Think about the places he’s most likely to set traps. Keep in mind he probably isn’t just going to use curses; it could be anything. You’ll need to map the likely places as well as use detection spells.This map—”  Draco indicated his model “—is interactive. I can give you the ability to add information directly onto it as you go so as can map likely and confirmed obstacles and dangers, in order to find the safest path through and hopefully surprise him before he can react.”

 

Ron was silent for a few moments, regarding the map in front of them. “How will you give me the ability to add information?” he asked quietly.

 

Draco held his breath before answering. “It’s blood magic.” He held up a hand to stop the protest he knew was coming. “It’s the quickest, most effective way to add and update information. Spellcasting and incantations can take too long, and it’s easy to get it wrong in the heat of the moment. You need only submit a drop of your blood and I cast the spell to link you. Once that’s done, you need only think of the threat and indicate the point on the ground where you think or know it to be, and it will appear on the map.”

 

Frowning, Ron grumbled, “I don’t like it, Malfoy. I don’t trust you with my blood. I don’t trust you at all.”

 

“Well, you don’t have a choice, Weasley,” Draco snapped.

 

“I can choose to tell you to fuck off,” Ron snarled back at him.

 

The two men glared at each other. Spencer, who had been standing off to the side and watching quietly spoke up. “Do it, Weasley. That’s an order!” he barked.

 

Ron looked for a moment like he would turn on his commanding officer, but thought better of it. Turning back to Draco with a bad grace, he growled, “Get it over with, then, Malfoy. And if you try to pull any shit, I’ll make sure you go straight to Azkaban.”

 

Ignoring the threat, Draco simply responded, “Hold out your hand, please.” Ron reluctantly did so, and Draco used the tip of his wand to make a shallow cut on Ron’s upturned palm. “Now hold your hand over the map and let a drop of blood fall onto it,” he instructed.

 

Ron did as he was asked. The drop of blood disappeared into the map as Draco whispered an indication and made a series of movements with his hand. The map disappeared momentarily, glowing a pale white upon reappearing before resuming its greenish colour. As it returned to normal, a series of gridlines appeared.

 

“It looks like a chess board!” observed Ron, impressed in spite of himself.

 

“Precisely,” Draco confirmed. “This is due north—” he indicated over the map and a compass symbol appeared to point the way “— and the squares are exactly like the squares on a chessboard. Any threats you suspect or confirm will appear on the appropriate squares. It will make the danger areas easy to identify, and help you map the actual ground and get your bearings. The map will move with you wherever you go, and the compass will reorient itself as you move so you don’t get turned around.”

 

Ron nodded in understanding. “That’s… pretty impressive,” he admitted grudgingly.

 

“Thanks,” Draco answered quietly. “We’ll need to do a briefing on how the Aurors will proceed once I clear the wards. It’ll be dangerous, there’s a lot of open ground to cover and there won’t be a lot of time to move before Yaxley realises he’s been compromised. This is where you’ll need to come in. Start plotting potential zones, scan for any traps as you go.”

 

Turning around behind him to look at Spencer, Draco asked, “How close to the building can you set up anti-apparition wards without detection?”

 

Spencer sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Not close enough. Either way, the team will be vulnerable.”

 

“Pull everyone back, for now, Spencer,” Draco instructed. Turning back to Ron, he added, “Weasley, I want you to accompany me around the borders of where the wards reach so you can see the ground from every angle. The map only shows so much.”

 

“Right,” Ron agreed.

 

Spencer withdrew to call back the other aurors, and Draco set off around the perimeter again with Weasley in tow.

 

They walked in silence for nearly twenty minutes, Draco guiding Ron along the ward lines, the map floating in front of them, stopping every so often so Ron could survey the ground and compare it to the topography the map revealed.

 

“Can I test the squares thing?” Ron asked.

 

Draco waved his hand forward in a ‘go ahead’ motion, and Ron turned back toward the area inside the wards.

 

“There’s a lump about twenty metres from us, about two metres to the left—” Ron pointed, “—there. It could be a rock, mound of dirt, anyth—” his words were cut off and he stared down at the map in amazement. A red X materialised in one of the squares, with the word ‘rock/mound’ appearing beneath it in small but neat text. “Bloody hell.” Ron lifted his eyes to Draco’s face, amazed. “It’s right there. D-3.”

 

Draco allowed himself a small smile. “It’ll work just as well non-verbally, so if you need to move stealthily just focus on what and where the problem is.”

 

“You may be a right bastard who deserved to rot in Azkaban with your death eater mates,” Ron grumbled, “but your spellwork is bloody brilliant. Almost as good as ‘Mione’s.”

 

Draco felt his stomach clench at the mention of her name. He hadn’t even said goodbye before rushing out. She didn’t know what he did, had not asked. Every time he joined one of these missions, he knew he was risking his life. Previously he had not cared if he died while carrying out his tasks, but now.. now… what if something happened to him and he never got to see her again?

 

“Don’t you dare think of her that way, Malfoy!” Weasley hissed.

 

“Wh-what?” Draco stuttered, startled. Had Weasley read his thoughts? Surely not.

 

“I can see that look on your face. Don’t think of her as less than you! Hermione is far better a person than you’ll ever be!” The venom in Ron’s face as he glared daggers at Draco was painfully evident.

 

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—” Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. “I don’t think of Herm—of _Granger_ —that way at all. I just—” Draco had to stop himself from speaking further. He was quite certain Hermione had not mentioned to Weasley their easing truce, or the red-headed man surely would have cursed him seven ways to Sunday as soon as he had arrived on the scene.

 

“I regret how I treated her at school. She is brave and loyal, and I was a fuckup and an asshole. Plus, she always bested me at every subject.” He paused, and decided to attempt a bit of humor in an effort to dispel the tension. “Except for Quidditch.”

 

Ron eyed Draco with mistrust for a few moments. Then he snorted with amusement, causing Draco to inwardly sigh with relief. “Hermione _is_ rubbish at quidditch,” Rob admitted fondly. “She’s rubbish on a broom, full stop. She still hates heights.”

 

“We should continue,” Draco stated, and Ron nodded silently in agreement.

 

The finished the rest of the patrol in silence, stopping occasionally so Ron could point out areas of interest as they went, each appearing on the map as he indicated it, until there were nearly a dozen X marks indicating uneven ground.

 

They met up with Spencer again at the starting point. “Everyone has pulled back for now,” the lead auror confirmed. “We’ve scheduled a briefing for oh-eight hundred tomorrow morning back at the camp.”

 

“Who’s patrolling the borders?” Ron asked.

 

“Withers, Rilley, Maxwell, Potter, Michaels, Kerr, O’Driscoll, and Johnson,” came the reply. They’ll be moving round the perimeter in pairs for four hours, then we’ll swap them out with the next eight.” Spencer turned to Draco and Ron. “You should both get some rest. Weasley, did you get some useful intel?”

 

Ron nodded. “I did. The ground is uneven, so we’ll need to know where those obstacles are. The wards are too thick to be able to detect any traps or curses. That will have to wait until Malfoy starts bringing them down.”

 

“Good.” Spencer nodded. “You’re excused from patrol tonight, Weasley. You’ll be leading the brief in the morning, so start planning and then get some sleep. Malfoy, follow me and I’ll show you to the camp.” With that, Spencer turned on his heel and walked off. Draco fell into step behind him, and the men melted into the darkness.

* * *

 

“Good morning, everyone,” Spencer greeted the assembled Aurors. “First, status report. Night patrols reported all was quiet. We haven’t noticed any movements, and our detection charms placed outside the wards haven’t picked up any activity either. We assume he’s still there, so we plan to move tonight under cover of darkness. Weasley will be leading the assault, and he’s going to brief everyone now on what their positions and cues will be.”

 

Draco watched as Weasley stood from his seated position toward the back of the group, and moved to the front, looking nervous. He noted Potter moving to sit in the seat Weasley had vacated. The dark-haired man noticed Draco, too, and glared at him.

 

Clearing his throat, Ron began. “Er, right. I accompanied Malfoy on a patrol around the boundary last night, and he’s developed a map of sorts we can use to navigate our way through in the darkness, hopefully without encountering any obstacles or traps.” Ron glanced toward Draco, who was sitting quietly a short distance from the group. “Can we bring up the map, please?”

 

Draco nodded and moved to stand beside Ron. Casting the charm to reveal the map, he gestured to Ron to continue. “It will rotate and move with a hand command,’ he explained.

 

“Right everyone, form a circle,” Ron instructed. Once the group had repositioned themselves, he directed the map to settle itself in the centre, just above the ground, and was quietly impressed again when it changed position according to his hand movements. “These X marks indicate ground hazards,” Ron explained. “They represent uneven ground. North is here—” he pointed to the compass “—aligned with the chimney of the building. I’m going to assign you into pairs, and you’ll each take a navigational point. One pair will take the south position, the second southwest, the third will be at the west position, and so on.”

 

Ron looked around the group to be sure they were following him. “Any questions so far?”

 

“How does the map work?” asked one of the younger wizards.

 

“That’s not important right now, Gallagher,” Ron replied shortly. “Focus on the mission and ask trivial questions later!”

 

“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” Gallagher apologised, looking down quickly.

 

“Any questions relating directly to the mission?” Ron asked, his expression businesslike. Everyone quickly shook their heads. “Good.” He nodded. “I’ll continue.”

 

“Now, Malfoy thinks it’s likely Yaxley may have set up traps inside the wards as well. Likely curses, but they could be anything. So move slowly once we go in, keep your eyes open for anything unusual, and use detection spells. Do not deviate from your position and keep moving in a straight line,” Ron added.

 

“Does everyone have their signal coins? Hold them up.” Each auror reached into his or her robes and pulled out a small gold coin.

 

“Excellent. They will heat up when it’s time to move in. Now I’m going to assign your positions. I want each of you to study your path intensely. I want you all to be able to move forward knowing the ground hazards in front of you so you can navigate around them without going off your designated path.”

 

Ron then turned to Draco again. “Malfoy here—” he gestured again to the blond man “—will be working on taking down the wards. For that reason, I’ll be positioned beside him, ready to give the signal the moment the last one falls. Gallagher, you’ll be with me.” The young auror paled, but nodded resolutely.

 

“Be ready for a long wait, ladies and gentlemen. Malfoy says it will take some time for him to safely disable all the wards without tipping off Yaxley to our presence. But that doesn’t mean you can let your minds wander. _Stay alert!_ I cannot emphasise this enough.” Ron paused to regard each auror in turn. “Yaxley is a dangerous and highly skilled dark wizard. A moment’s inattention, and he he could slip through our fingers, and he _will_ blast his way out violently.”

 

Turning to Draco, Ron asked, “Can we plot everyone’s positions on the map and the direction they are to go as I assign the pairings?” he asked. Draco nodded. “Right, here are your pairings. _Samuels and Peterson, north-east position. Willis and Jones, east position. Frankels and Lee, south-east…”_

 

As promised, Draco conjured each pair’s names by their assigned position as Ron called out the names, finishing with the north position where he, Draco and Gallagher would be waiting. Draco made a second hand movement and pale green lines appeared, connecting each position to the farmhouse.

 

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ron acknowledged. “Each of you has your position. Study the hazards in your way and think about how you’re going to avoid them while keeping yourselves moving in a straight direction. Remember it’s easy to veer off-course in the darkness, so while you’re waiting for the signal find a focal point to help you.”

 

Every auror moved around until they were looking directly at their assigned position, and silence fell as they each studied the map in front of them.

 

After ten minutes Ron dismissed the group. “Get some rest and something to eat, and make sure you have everything you need. This is a dangerous, challenging operation and it will run very late. We meet back here an hour after dusk for a sit/rep and final briefing, where we will confirm the time everyone is to move into position.”

 

Silently, the assembled aurors moved off in twos and threes to prepare for the night ahead, leaving Draco alone with Harry and Ron.

 

“Weasley. Those coins, are they—?”

 

“The same as the ones ‘Mione charmed in fifth year? Yeah.” Ron took his coin from his robes and held it up. “She makes them for us, you know. She’s better at most spells than some of the veteran aurors. It’s a shame she quit her auror training, she would have bloody brilliant.”

 

“She said it just wasn’t for her, and she’d joined for the wrong reasons,” Draco remembered, then silently cursed himself at his slip.

 

Ron’s head shot up, and he glared at Draco with suspicion. “How’d you know that, Malfoy?” he asked dangerously.

 

“Um. Oh, well… shit.” Draco ran his hands nervously through his hair and looked at the angry red-headed man. “We’ve been… talking.”

 

“Talking _how_?” Ron demanded. “Have you been harassing her again, you fucking ferret?”

 

“ _NO_! No. For the love of Merlin, Weasley, calm down!” Draco exclaimed, holding his hands up. “I happened to be in the Blue Jazzist one night—”

 

“What, that muggle club she sings at?” Ron scoffed. “Come off it. What would a pureblood prat like you be doing in a _muggle_ club?”

 

“I was drunk,” Draco retorted defensively. “Very drunk. I got in a fight apparently, and was in the middle of being thrown out when I heard a woman singing. It sounded—” He stopped himself, not wanting to mention his mother in front of the men before him. He feared Weasley might insult her, and then he really _would_ go to Azkaban, this time for hexing an auror into oblivion.

 

“I don’t know how to explain it. The voice just stuck with me. I didn’t know at the time it was Granger, I only found out when I went back.” Draco proceeded to give Ron and Harry a watered down version of the timeline, leaving out the bit about him giving Hermione gifts but explaining how the club had been targeted; and how the two of them had worked together to ensure cover for the bouncers while they were recuperating.

 

“Why didn’t she ask me and Harry to help?” Weasley asked, sounding hurt that he had been excluded.

 

Potter, who had been quietly watching the exchange - uncharacteristic for him, Draco thought cynically - added with a frown, “We would have been glad to help.”

 

“She… thought the two of you might be too busy with work,” Draco fibbed. He may be a lowly asshole, he thought to himself, but there was no way he would throw Hermione under the Knight bus.

 

Interacting with Weasley though, he could see exactly why Hermione had been so adamant he wasn’t right for the job. The man got pissed off at the drop of a bloody hat. He’d have started more fights than he prevented, without a doubt. And Potter was still a runt.

 

Luckily, Draco’s two former rivals seemed to buy the excuse. Sighing, Weasley admitted, “Yeah, we have been pretty busy lately. We caught one of the lower-tier death eaters a few weeks ago and he immediately spilled his guts on the whereabouts of his mates. We caught a few more based on his information and they’ve been spilling too, the cowardly bastards. We’ve had more leads to follow up on than we have aurors to check them out.”

 

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just nodded silently. He was envious of Weasley’s and Potter’s positions in wizarding society - they were doing good things and were well regarded, while he was forced to remain in the shadows and on the edges, a pariah who was still largely shunned and mistrusted.

 

Well,” Ron said, standing, “I’m going to go and prepare for tonight. I suggest you do the same, Malfoy. By the look of those wards, it’s going to do a number on your magic.”

 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Draco murmured. “But you’re right, these wards are among the strongest and darkest I’ve dealt with.”

 

“Back here an hour after dusk. Don’t be late.” With that final instruction, Ron turned and walked away, Potter following without a word or backward glance, leaving Draco to prepare alone.

* * *

 

“Is everyone here?” Spencer asked as the aurors settled down to listen to the final briefing. “Yes? Good.” He moved to the front of the group.

 

“The situation has changed. We were expecting a cloudy night, which would give us some concealment to make up for the lack of cover over the open ground. However, those clouds are clearing and the moon will be bright, which will make anyone attempting to approach the target easily seen before they get close.”

 

Some of the aurors looked at each other, uneasy.

 

“For this reason,” Spencer continued, “you will all need to use disillusionment charms. This is going to make things significantly harder as we will not be able to have eyes on our partner’s positions as we near the target. You will need to remain in physical contact with your partner from the moment you cast your charms to when we breach the target. Work out how you will move beforehand, _and stick to it._ Have an exit strategy in place that will protect you both in case things go south.”

 

Spencer looked around at the group. “Above all, stay calm. Keep your wits about you and remember your training. As Weasley said this morning, Yaxley is not to be underestimated. He won’t hesitate to try and maim and kill anyone who gets in his way, if he is given the opportunity. _Do not give him that opportunity.”_

 

Ron stepped forward. “Since we won’t be able to see each other, when you get within three metres of the target, you are to halt and keep low. I’ll use the coins to give you the signal to stand by, and then to breach.” He looked around the group to ensure everyone understood his instruction. “On my cue, blast the fuck out of all four walls. With any luck we’ll bring it down and crush him before he can react.”

 

“Our intention is to take him alive, so do try to avoid killing him,” Spencer added, giving Ron a warning look. “Blast the walls, by all means, but I would prefer the building isn’t completely disintegrated.”

 

“Everyone ready?” Ron asked. Everyone nodded silently in assent. “Right, get into position. As soon as you’re there, cast your disillusionment charms. Good luck.”

 

As the group got up to move to their assigned places, Weasley, Spencer and Potter all lingered behind with Draco. Gallagher, the younger auror, remained seated a short distance away, looking frightened but resigned.

 

“Are you ready, Malfoy?” Spencer asked.

 

“Yes,” Draco replied simply.

 

“Excellent. Keep safe, you lot.” Turning to Harry, he said, “Let’s go, Potter. We’d better get into position.”

 

Draco looked at Weasley in some surprise. “I’d have thought Potter would be leading a team,” he mused.

 

Ron stared at Draco, an unreadable expression on his face, and Draco at first thought Weasley would not reply. After a few moments, though, he simply shrugged. “Ginny’s pregnant.” Ron explained. “Their first. She didn’t want him to come on this mission, because it’s a high-risk operation. The compromise was he takes a back seat for this one.”

 

“The Weaselette is pregnant?” Draco responded, before he could stop himself. _Old habits die hard,_ he thought to himself. “Congratulations!” he added hurriedly, sensing Weasley was ready to draw his wand. “How does Potter feel about stepping back?” he added, hoping to move the topic on to safer waters.

 

“He’s not happy.” Ron frowned. “But he agreed to it to keep Gin happy. He’s taking the rear position with Spencer, as part of the backup in case we need it.” Looking at his watch, he added, “Right, let’s get a move on. Come on, Gallagher. Showtime.”

 

The three men walked silently toward their position, anticipation and apprehension settling into their stomachs.

* * *

 

Two hours later, concealed with Weasley and Gallagher behind a low wall just beyond the perimeter, Draco had peeled away six of the seven wards. He was sweating heavily and had removed his jacket. Concentrating, he willed himself to see into the barrier, to see _through_ it, to penetrate and become a part of it. Slowly, slowly, he felt it begin to waver. Steeling himself, he continued to focus on silently and stealthily breaching the final layer of Yaxley’s protections.

 

An indeterminable length of time later, he felt a final shimmer and jerked his head at Weasley, indicating they were almost through and he should send out the signal to be ready.

 

Moments later, the ward dropped. “Go, Weasley!” he hissed. He watched as the red-headed man changed the coin bearing Hermione’s protean charm one final time before disillusioning himself, Gallagher following suit.

 

Draco had been instructed to keep back and watch once he had broken through, which suited him just fine. He didn’t have the stomach for combat any more, and much preferred to work behind the scenes.

 

He sat back to wait, hoping they would not be caught unawares by the additional traps Yaxley was sure to have laid. Hoping Yaxley would be there and they would catch the sadistic, cruel bastard quickly.

 

He brought up his map so he could keep an eye on everyone’s movements. He had heard rumours from Sev about a map Potter’s dad and his friends had had, a magical one that showed everyone within Hogwarts and their exact location. Draco’s map worked in a similar way, allowing him to see each pair as they advanced slowly in an ever-closing circle toward the farmhouse.

 

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to see Spencer and Potter approaching.

 

“How did it go, Malfoy?” Spencer asked quietly.

 

“I got through all the wards successfully,” Draco replied. Indicating the map, he showed the small dots with the names attached as they progressed. “They’ve not encountered any threats so far.”

 

Potter looked at him with grudging awe. “Ron told me you made an impressive map, Malfoy,” he whispered. “But his description didn’t do your work justice.”

 

“Thank you, Potter,” Draco acknowledged softly.

 

The three men went back to watching the dots as they slowed, close now to their target.

 

Draco looked at the map and frowned. “Something’s not right,” he said worriedly. “Their progress has been easy. Too easy. Yaxley loves nasty surprises, but no one seems to have encountered anything.”

 

Potter reached into his robes and pulled out one of the charmed coins, as did Spencer.

 

“They’re waiting for Ron’s signal,” explained Spencer.

 

Draco looked up at the men, alarmed. “It’s a trick! Pull them back! Do it now, Spencer!” he hissed desperately.

 

“Shit! It’s too late, Ron’s given the—” Spencer began.

 

 _“BOMBARDA!”_ came the shout of many voices at once over the still night air.

 

“FUCK!” Draco yelled, and sprinted toward the smoke, Potter and Spencer on his heels.

* * *

 

 _Ron set the coin to say,_ **_from 5,_ ** _meaning everyone was to count down from five and then cast the breach spell as one._

_Five… four… three… two… he and Gallagher counted in a whisper._

 

_“BOMBARDA!”_

 

_The aurors rushed in through the smoke as one, wands at the ready and pointed in all directions. The smoke began to clear and it was evident there was no one in the room._

 

_“Fuck!” Ron cursed, removing his disillusionment charm. Everyone followed suit. “You lot, come with me! Upstairs!” he ordered. “The rest of you, patrol around the building! Keep close watch!” Ron ran up the stairs, followed by Gallagher and a second pair._

 

_A thorough sweep of the sparse upstairs area, accompanied by a powerful revealing charm, unveiled nothing, and Ron’s shoulders slumped in defeat._

 

_“Alright. Let’s—”_

 

_Ron’s next words were interrupted by sudden screams and an explosion. The aurors raced down the stairs and into confusion and chaos._

* * *

 

Draco was almost at the farmhouse. He could see pairs of aurors emerging from the settling smoke, moving efficiently around the building as if checking for something, and he felt his heart leap into his throat.

 

“Get back! Move back!” he screamed at the nearest pair. They spun quickly, wands trained on him in surprise. Behind them, they heard sudden screams and explosion ripped through the night.

 

Draco kept running toward the building, part of which was suddenly alight. In the glow, he saw a young woman lying just inside the entrance, her eyes open and staring. Turning quickly, he saw Yaxley move out from a corner, firing curses at the nearest aurors and forcing them back.

 

He felt, rather than saw, movement behind him and ducked as Potter and Spencer fired curses back at Yaxley. The veteran death eater cackled and cast a powerful shield charm, moving all the while, and returning fire with gusto. His back was to the stairs as Weasley reached the bottom landing, Gallagher and two others right behind him.

 

“YAXLEY!” Weasley roared. Draco moved rapidly toward the stairs as Yaxley spun, lifting his wand to aim at the man who had called his name.

 

 _“Avada—!”_ Yaxley began, grinning maniacally as he began to cast the killing curse.

 

Draco dived forward, aiming for the dark wizard. _“SECTUMSEMPRA!”_

 

Yaxley screamed as he was thrown back, blood suddenly pouring from the gaping wounds that had appeared across his arms and torso.

 

As everyone froze in shock, Draco turned to Spencer. “Do you want him alive?” he asked desperately. Spencer could only stare, like everyone else present, in horror at the dying dark wizard writhing and howling on the floor of the destroyed building.

 

 _“Do you want him alive?”_ Draco cried. “Tell me now, or it will be too late and he _will_ die right here on this floor!”

 

Harry stepped forward. “Yes. We want him alive.”

 

Draco rushed over to the prostrate man and dropped to his knees beside him, muttering the countercurse. Slowly, the wounds began to close.

 

Yaxley glared blearily up at Draco. “Malfoy. Blood traitor. You—” he coughed. “You’ll...pay...for this.”

 

“Fuck you, Yaxley,” Draco hissed. “The only reason I’m not letting you bleed out is because Potter wants you alive.”

 

Completing the spellwork, Draco shakily stood up and stepped back.

 

“He’s all yours,” he growled, glancing at Harry.

 

Turning on his heel, Draco stalked out into the darkness.

* * *

 

“Right, everyone, quiet down, please.” Spencer once again stood at the head of the group.

Dawn was breaking, and everyone was still in shock. “I know you’re exhausted, and we’ve taken casualties, but we _need_ to get this debrief out of the way.”

 

Slowly, the assembled aurors turned toward Spencer as he spoke. They were broken, bleeding and dirty, but they held on.

 

“It turns out Yaxley knew we were here. We think he knew from the start.” Spencer sighed. “He was hiding upstairs under an invisibility cloak—” several aurors gasped and cursed “—and he moved downstairs immediately after we breached the building. It meant he wasn’t affected by the blast.” Spencer’s eyes scanned the room. “It just didn’t cross our minds he would use this tactic. None of the intel we had indicated he had managed to get his hands on one.”

 

“I thought Potter had the only invisibility cloak?” one auror asked.

 

“Potter has what we think is the only authentic one. But there are knockoffs. They just don’t work for as long,” Spencer explained. “Yaxley only needed it to work for long enough to hide himself upstairs and then move back downstairs without detection. He simply waited until a search had been conducted and everyone had begun to let their guard down before unleashing a surprise attack.”

 

Harry stepped forward. “Everyone did everything exactly right. No one is at fault. _Do not blame yourselves, or each other._ That is important. Like Spencer said, we didn’t have the intel about the cloak, so we didn’t consider it a possible factor.” He looked down sadly. “We have lost three friends tonight. But we’re lucky it wasn’t more.”

 

“What was that spell Malfoy used?” another auror asked fearfully.

 

“It was a dark curse,” Harry replied, to gasps and mutters. “Don’t judge Malfoy for using it. I used it on him in sixth year, not knowing what it could do. He only survived thanks to Severus Snape’s quick actions. It would be hypocritical of us to judge him for using it without also judging me.”

 

Harry turned to indicate Draco, standing quietly behind him. “Malfoy realised before any of us that something wasn’t right. He tried to warn us, but we just weren’t able to react quickly enough. If it hadn’t been for him, we likely would have had higher casualties.” Harry’s eyes moved over to Ron, who had was shaken at his brush with death but was otherwise uninjured.

 

Moving quickly over to the blond man, Harry extended his hand. “Thank you, Malfoy. We owe you our lives,” he said quietly.

 

Draco nodded solemnly, taking Harry’s hand in his. “I’m only sorry I didn’t realise earlier that something was wrong, Potter,” he apologised, looking down in shame.

 

Harry clasped Draco’s shoulder with his free hand.

 

“ _Do not apologise,”_ he said fiercely, his eyes blazing. “You realised when we didn’t. That is worthy of recognition.”

 

Stepping away, Harry swept his eyes over the group. “We have healers on the way to attend to those who are injured, and take the casualties to their families,” he said softly. “Stay together, support each other. We’ll be going home soon.”

 

One by one, the surviving aurors moved over to Draco to thank him and shake him by the hand, some reluctantly, others with quiet awe, before silently moving away.

 

Once again, Draco was left alone with Harry, Ron, and Spencer.

 

“You scared the shit out of me with that curse, Malfoy,” Harry said.

 

Draco allowed himself a cynical smile. “Let’s just say I’m well aware of its effectiveness in immediately incapacitating an opponent.”

 

“I almost killed you, once. I know saying ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what the spell would do’ doesn’t make up for that, but I felt sick about it. I still feel sick about it,” Harry confessed.

 

“I almost killed several people.” Draco shrugged. “At the least, I’m indirectly implicated in the deaths of others. I think my transgressions trump yours, Potter.”

 

Harry regarded him curiously. “How did you know the countercurse?”

 

Draco looked down at his hands. “Sev—Professor Snape—taught it to me after I recovered. He said that if I ever found myself feeling the urge to use it, I should know how to halt the damage, so...” Glancing up at the men before him, he continued “... so I had the choice as to whether my opponent lived or died.”

 

The three aurors looked shocked, but said nothing.

 

Spencer broke the uneasy silence. “Right. You lot need to move out and be seen by the healers before you leave.” Turning to Draco, he added, “That goes for you too, Malfoy.”

 

Spencer left, closely followed by Harry, and Draco made to follow him. He was stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked back and into Ron’s bright blue eyes.

 

“You saved my life tonight, Malfoy,” he said, his voice shaking. “I—I didn’t—”

 

“You didn’t expect a pureblood Slytherin prat like me to save a lowly Gryffindor who was also a Weasley?” Draco guessed, attempting a smile.

 

“Well—” Ron looked down at his feet “—yeah.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Weasley.” Clapping Ron on the arm, Draco turned and walked wearily away to find the healer station.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le briseur de malédiction est ici. Reste en arrière = The curse breaker is here. Rest and wait
> 
> Sit/rep = situation report
> 
> If you're enjoying so far, please recommend, review and slap that kudos button <3


	9. Jameson and pints times two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love, as always, to CourtingInsanity X Your feedback and support keeps me inspired!
> 
> Warning for character death in this chapter. It's not gruesome or anything, but heads up all the same.

****

**_Hermione’s flat, late Monday afternoon_ **

 

Hermione was working from home when the floo chimed. Moments later, a distraught and very pregnant Ginny stepped through.

 

“Hermione! Are you here?”

 

Hermione hurriedly put down her quill and moved across the room to meet her friend. “Gin! What’s happened?” she asked, alarmed.

 

“Have—” Ginny’s voice shook and her eyes were filled with unshed tears “—have you heard?”

 

“Heard about what? Ginny, what’s going on?” Hermione demanded, feeling her heart rate speed up in trepidation.

 

“It’s Harry and—and Ron!” the red-haired woman gasped, bursting into sobs. “Their mission went completely wrong!”

 

Hermione felt herself begin to shake, but she knew she had to stay calm for Ginny’s sake.

 

“Come and sit down. I’ll make tea while you tell me what happened.” Hermione waved her wand to set the kettle on the stove to boil and the tea things to begin setting themselves out, and led Ginny to the couch.

 

“Ginny. Are Harry and Ron alive?” Hermione asked anxiously. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the woman nodded, tears still streaming down her face. For several minutes Hermione could not get a word out of Ginny, and simply sat holding her while she sobbed.

 

Finally, Ginny sat up, wiping her eyes and hiccuping. Hermione passed her a box of tissues and waved her wand again to fill the teapot with water, before summoning it and the tea things to the coffee table in front of the couch they sat on.

 

“I’m sorry!” Ginny gasped. “I’m just so relieved. Ron was almost killed. Harry might have been, too, if he hadn’t been in the reserve team.”

 

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in horror as the seriousness of the situation hit home, then grasped Ginny’s arm and looked her in the eyes. “Gin, you’re scaring me. Tell me what happened!”

 

“Right.” Ginny sniffed. “You know what their mission was?”

 

Hermione nodded.“Yes. They had found the location of one of the death eaters, right?”

 

“Yaxley,” Ginny confirmed.

 

Hermione widened her eyes. She knew how dangerous he was, and that he had successfully evaded capture since the Battle of Hogwarts.

 

“Harry couldn’t tell me much before he left, because he didn’t want to compromise the mission.” Ginny explained. “He just said they had good intel and hoped to capture the target I didn’t know any more than that until he got home.”

 

“And when was that?” Hermione frowned, as she began to pour tea for them both.

 

“About an hour ago.” Ginny sniffed.

 

“But… didn’t they leave Saturday?” Hermione asked, worry evident in her voice.

 

“In the afternoon,” Ginny confirmed. “They’d expected to have completed the mission by Sunday morning. Harry never came home at all on Sunday and I didn’t hear anything from him or Ron. I thought the worst.” She fought back another wave of tears as she spoke.

 

“Ginny! Why didn’t you tell me?” Hermione admonished. “I’d have come right over and stayed with you, you know I would have!” She handed her friend a steaming cup of tea as she spoke.

 

“I know you would have,” Ginny replied, her eyes downcast. “But, well… I convinced myself I was just being a silly pregnant worrywart. It’s not the first time he’s been delayed on a mission, and when he is, he’s hardly ever in the position to get a message to me. So I just waited and hoped.”

 

“So what happened?” Hermione pressed gently.

 

“Long story short, Yaxley set a trap for them,” Ginny explained. “They moved in and breached the building they’d tracked him to. It looked like he wasn’t there, and it wasn’t until they started letting their guard down that he attacked.”

 

Hermione swallowed, hearing a click in her throat. She knew it was bound to be bad. “How many casualties?” she asked fearfully.

 

“Three killed,” Ginny replied sadly. “Eight injured. Harry said they were lucky to get away with what they did.”

 

“You said Ron was almost killed. Is he injured?”

 

Ginny shook her head. “No. He’s completely unharmed.” She looked up at Hermione. “Malfoy saved him.”

 

 _“Malfoy?_ What? How—?” Hermione found herself at a loss for words.

 

Suddenly, she remembered the events of Saturday night.

 

_“Hey, Malfoy. There’s a bloke outside asking for you. Tall, skinny, dark hair. Says ‘tell that low-down snake in the grass to slither out here.’_

 

_“Shit. Sorry Granger. I have to go. Business.”_

 

“But… Malfoy isn’t an auror… is he?” Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

 

“No. He’s a curse-breaker. The best in all of Britain, according to Harry.”

 

“The best in— but, then, why have I never heard this?”

 

Ginny shrugged. “I didn’t know either, up until just before. Malfoy likes to keep his occupation quiet. The only people who know are aurors and a few people who have needed curses removed and can be trusted to be discrete.”

 

Hermione puzzled over this piece of information. They had talked a few times about her occupation, but never his. It had never come up in conversation. Truthfully, Hermione had assumed he didn’t have an occupation, given his wealth and his unpopularity among the wizarding population.

 

“So, Malfoy was there to—what? Remove curses Yaxley had laid?”

 

“He was supposed to remove the wards and help scan for any other traps Yaxley may have laid inside the boundary,” Ginny said. “Apparently he invented a spell that creates a sort of map of an area, showing the number and strength of wards. He can also plot any dangers on it so people going in know areas to avoid.”

 

Hermione nodded her understanding and indicated for Ginny to continue.

 

“Malfoy took down all the wards and everyone started moving in. Ron was leading the forward group. Harry stayed back with Malfoy.” Ginny set her cup and saucer down on the table. “Apparently Malfoy sensed something was wrong as they were nearing the building. He tried to get Spencer to pull everyone back, but it was too late. They breached the walls and moved in before anyone could react.”

 

“Malfoy rushed over before Harry or Spencer could stop him, so they had no choice but to follow. It turns out Yaxley had an invisibility cloak, a knockoff, and used it to make everyone think he had escaped. He hit them as they were coming back together. They were completely unprepared. Ron was upstairs with three others when he attacked.”

 

Ginny took a steadying breath. “Ron got to the ground floor and spotted Yaxley. He challenged him and Yaxley turned on Ron. He tried to _Avada_ him.”

 

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, realising how close she had come to losing one of her dearest friends.

 

“Malfoy got in between Ron and Yaxley, and cursed him before he could hit Ron. Hermione—” Ginny grasped Hermione’s hand “—he used the curse Harry used on _him_ in sixth year!”

 

“He _what?_ Gin, are you sure? That curse—”

 

“—nearly killed him. I know. Harry witnessed it. Everyone in the room witnessed it.”

 

Hermione tried to feel angry at the idea Malfoy would use such a dark curse, but couldn’t bring herself to do it, given the wizard it had been directed at. “So, Yaxley’s dead?” she asked quietly.

 

“No! That’s the other thing—he’s alive! Malfoy knew the countercurse, and stopped the bleeding.”

 

Hermione’s mind was working overtime, trying to make sense of all this information. “So what’s going to happen to Yaxley now?” she asked.

 

“He’s been transferred to the most secure part of Azkaban to await sentencing.”

 

“And Harry and Ron?”

 

“At the Burrow,” Ginny confirmed.

 

Hermione stood up. “I should go and see everyone. And you—” she looked fondly at Ginny “need to get back to Harry. He’ll be worried about you.”

 

Ginny nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

 

One at a time, the two women stepped through the floo.

* * *

 

**_Malfoy Manor, early Sunday evening_ **

Draco was sitting in his study, nursing his fourth - or was it his fifth? - glass of firewhiskey. The events of the previous night swirled through his mind, and try as he might, he could not banish the images he had seen.

 

A young woman lying motionless near an entranceway. A man crumpled in a corner. Another man, lying sprawled across a short corridor. Each of them with eyes open, staring, and lifeless. The surviving aurors, battered and bleeding, mourning the loss of their friends. Everyone staring at him in fear and horror after witnessing him curse Yaxley.

 

 _“You should have spoken sooner,”_ growled mirror-Draco. _“You suspected something was wrong from the moment the wards dropped, but you waited until they were about to hit the building before you said anything.”_

 

“I—I thought I was just overthinking it,” Draco whispered at the mirror. “I was recovering from the exertion of bringing down the wards. I just wasn’t as alert as usual.”

 

 _“You were a coward,”_ mirror-Draco sneered. _“Admit it. You were shitting yourself at the thought Yaxley might somehow sense your presence. You held back, not wanting anything more to do with the situation.”_

 

“That—that’s not it!” Draco protested. “I didn’t want to jump to conclusions and alarm them unnecessarily. It would have killed their mission!” He frantically took a gulp of the glass, emptying it, and reached for the bottle to pour another.

 

 _“It would have killed their mission!”_ Mirror-Draco mimicked in a cruel voice. _“But your hesitation_ **_did_ ** _kill three aurors, didn’t it?”_ it added thoughtfully.

 

“SHUT UP! Just shut the fuck UP!” Draco screamed, throwing his glass at Mirror-Draco. The mirror shattered, and Draco pulled desperately at his hair. Why wouldn’t the images just _go away?_

 

“M-master Malfoy?” spoke a soft and trembling voice.

 

Draco whipped his head up to see Pria standing a short distance away, wringing her tea towel anxiously.

 

“What is it, Pria?” he asked softly.

 

She pointed. “There be an owl at Master’s window. It has been tapping for some time now.”

 

Draco glanced in the direction of his window, There was indeed an owl, and it looked rather put out at being made to wait. He got up unsteadily, stumbling slightly, to let it in.

 

It was a beautiful spotted tawny owl, small but graceful. It perched delicately on the edge of his desk, looking around the room. It appeared to notice the glass on the floor, and looked from the mess to him in disapproval before holding out its leg to show the letter tied to it.

 

Draco felt a twinge in his stomach. That disapproving look reminded him of someone. Surely this owl couldn’t be…?

 

He rushed to untie the letter, breaking the seal and reading it quickly.

 

_Dear Malfoy,_

 

_Ginny came to visit me earlier and told me a very interesting story - one about a certain blond prat who intervened just in time to save a certain hot-headed redhead._

 

_Are you okay? Can I do anything? You’re not on your own, are you?_

 

_H._

 

Draco felt absurdly grateful that she seemed to be concerned for his well-being, but he couldn’t help snorting with amusement at the last part of the letter. It’s not like he was likely to be surrounded by friends and admirers, was it?

 

Still, he didn’t want her to think he _wasn’t_ okay. He picked up a quill from his desk and pulled a blank piece of parchment toward him, intending to tell her he was fine and thank her for thinking of him.

 

Instead, he found himself writing,

 

_I’ve been better._

 

He frowned, thinking how pathetically sad that looked. It needed something more, so it didn’t sound like he had completely lost it.

 

_Then again, I’ve been worse._

 

_D._

 

He fed the owl some treats before tying the letter to its leg. As he watched it soar out his window and into the darkness, he wondered if he should have lied, after all. He sat at his desk to await the reply he hoped would come.

 

Some time later, Hermione’s owl did return.

 

He opened it, anxiety and anticipation warring in his gut.

 

The note simply said,

 

_Meet me at the following address in Muggle London in half an hour._

 

_H._

 

Draco studied the address, pondering what was there and why Hermione wanted to meet him. He could feel excitement fluttering in his chest and anxiety, and briefly debated not going.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered to himself. “You can’t chicken out now.” Standing, he headed to his ensuite to shower and change.

* * *

 

**_Muggle London, Monday evening_ **

Draco arrived outside the address and discovered it was a small Irish-themed pub called _The Broken Shamrock._ He looked around the quiet street. The pub was situated on the corner of what appeared to be a small business district, with a cafe, offices and a clothing store nearby. Standing outside in the warm glow, he wondered whether he should go in and check to see if Hermione had arrived yet.

 

Checking his watch, he saw he was a few minutes early and decided to wait outside. Only a minute later, he heard light footsteps approaching. Turning, he saw Hermione trotting toward him. She smiled up at him kindly.

 

“Come on,” she invited, “There’s a live band playing tonight, but there won’t be many patrons yet because it’s a Monday.”

 

“Do you come here often, Granger?” Draco asked curiously as they stepped inside.

 

“Quite regularly. It has a relaxed atmosphere and the band is very good.”

 

They made their way to the bar and Hermione greeted the barman.

 

“Hi Connor! Jameson and pints times two, please.” Connor nodded and set about fetching the drinks.

 

Draco raised his eyebrows at Hermione questioningly.

 

“It’s tradition in this pub,” she explained.

 

Draco simply shrugged and knocked back the shot of whiskey when Connor put it before him, Hermione following suit.

 

When he tried to reach into his pocket for money, Hermione put her hand on his arm. “No way,” she said firmly. This one’s on me.”

 

“But…” Draco tried to argue.

 

“No buts,” Hermione interrupted in a voice that brooked no disagreement. Seeing the look that must have been evident on his face, she added, “How about I allow you to get the next round?”

 

“ _Allow_ me?” Draco smirked. “Well, aren’t I lucky?”

 

“Come on, you prat.” Hermione smiled, picking up her beer.

 

She led the way to a secluded booth, indicating he should sit. Sliding in beside him, she picked up a menu resting on the table which listed bar food and meals.

 

“Have you eaten?” she asked him.

 

Draco shook his head. “I haven’t been hungry since…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

 

“You should eat,” Hermione insisted softly. Suddenly brightening, she added, “This place does the best mixed basket ever! It’s all fried food, terribly unhealthy, but very comforting.” So saying, she slid out of the booth before Draco could utter a word, heading for the bar. He watched as she enthusiastically spoke with Connor, who nodded and gave her a wink.

 

Hermione came back over, saying, “I got the large basket with all the trimmings! You’d better help me eat it, Draco Malfoy, because there’s no way I’ll eat that much food on my own.” Draco started at the use of his first name, but Hermione appeared not to notice. She was looking at him with a kind and open expression.

 

“Tell me how you’re doing,” she said softly.

 

“I’m… okay,” he replied hesitantly.

 

“You’re not!” she said sternly. “No one would be okay after that. Talk to me,” she pleaded softly. “It helps to talk.”

 

“Why—why are you doing this, Granger?” he asked, not able to meet her eyes. He knew he was stalling for time. Why would she ask him how he was doing? Why would she care? He needed to know.

 

“Because you witnessed a mission that went pear-shaped. It was a traumatic experience for everyone involved,” she explained. “And because you saved Ron.” Draco looked up at her, surprised to see the emotion on her face. “I can’t thank you enough. And Harry, and the Weasleys— even Ron himself — we’re all grateful to you for what you did.”

 

Draco was amazed. He’d fucked up, gotten people _killed_ through his inattention, and she was _thanking_ him? “I—I should have acted sooner!” Draco blurted out. “It’s my fault people died!” Gasping, he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking, as he tried to control the emotions which threatened to overflow.

 

Suddenly, her hands were around his neck as she drew him to her. “Now you listen to me, Malfoy,” she said, her voice low. “It is _not_ your fault people died. You realised before anyone else something was off, and acted selflessly by rushing in to help. If you hadn’t been there, the outcome may have been much worse. _You did a good thing. You were brave. You stopped Yaxley._ The mission was a success because of your help.”

 

“No. No.” Draco sighed, looking into her eyes. “I used a _dark curse,_ Hermione! Everyone there was reminded I was involved with the dark! I made them _afraid!_ ”

 

“You did what you had to in order to stop Yaxley. He was an evil, dangerous man who had no qualms about killing people. He tried to kill Ron and you stopped him. If people can’t see that, it’s their problem, not yours,” she argued.

 

Draco wasn’t convinced, but he nodded regardless and picked up his beer, desperate for a distraction. He quickly swallowed half the contents.

 

“Better?” Hermione asked, smirking slightly. Draco nodded.

 

“Here y’are, Hermione. One mixed basket with all the trimmings!” Connor had arrived, carrying a large plastic container holding an assortment of fried foods. Piled on top were sour cream, melted cheese and crumbled bacon. Hermione thanked him enthusiastically.

 

“Merlin’s beard, Granger!” Draco exclaimed once the barman had left. “This looks like it would give a hippogriff a heart attack!”

 

“I know!” she grinned. “Isn’t it great? It’s got everything - chips, wedges, chicken nuggets, fish bites, prawn horns and mini hot dogs!”

 

Draco didn’t know what most of those things were, but what he _did_ know was the food in front of them smelt wonderful. Suddenly, his stomach growled. He picked up a fish bite, only to drop it again. “Ow! It’s hot!”

 

Hermione laughed. “Well, they _did_ just come out of the deep fryer. You need to give it a few minutes to cool down.”

 

Feeling sheepish, Draco picked up his glass, draining the last of his beer. “Round two?” he asked, waggling his glass at her.

 

Hermione drained the last of her own glass before nodding, and Draco headed over to order. When he returned to the table, holding a small tray with the two more whiskey shots and two more pints balanced on it, Hermione was tucking into the basket of food.

 

Draco sat, passing Hermione her drinks, and eagerly snatched up the fish bite he had dropped earlier. It was wonderful, and he set to work trying each of the different items. “I like these things,” he announced, holding up one of the prawn horns.

 

Hermione snatched it out of his hand. “I like them, too.” She smirked, taking a bite.

 

“Oi!” Draco objected. Grabbing her hand, he bit into the remaining pastry, causing Hermione to giggle as his teeth came within range of her fingers.

 

“Cheeky witch,” he growled, chewing.

 

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and picked up her whiskey, holding it up in invitation. Picking up his own, they clinked glasses before quickly downing the contents.

 

Hearing the sounds of a band tuning their instruments, he turned to a small elevated platform situated opposite the front entrance. Three men were fiddling with equipment, while a fourth tested a microphone while strumming on a guitar.

 

“Oh yay! They’ll be starting soon!” Hermione announced brightly. ‘They’re really good. The singer—” she pointed out the man with the guitar “—Mickey, is Connor’s son.”

 

Draco watched as the band got ready to play. Their movements were relaxed and unhurried and they bantered back and forth as they prepared for the set, leaving him envious of how carefree and _happy_ they seemed. Looking around the room, he was startled at how many people had filed in.

 

Soon, the main lights in the room were lowered, leaving the platform bathed in multi coloured soft lighting, and with a four-count from Mickey the band launched straight into their first song.

 

_Ho-ro, the rattlin’ bog_

_The bog down in the valley-o_

_Ho-ro the rattlin’ bog_

_The bog down in the valley-o_

 

The audience joyfully jumped in at the chorus, with much clapping and stamping of feet. Draco turned to Hermione to see her clapping and stomping along with everyone else, her face alight with joy.

 

Draco had never heard the song and was impressed at how Mickey didn’t seem to get short of breath, though the verses got progressively longer and longer.

 

“How does he do that?” he called into Hermione’s ear.

 

“Do what?” she shouted back over the music.

 

“How does he keep going without losing his breath?” Draco clarified, indicating Mickey who was enthusiastically stomping his foot in tune with the song.

 

“It comes with practice,” she explained. “Singers who need to hold long notes or complete a long verse use breath control so they can balance and control their voice.”

 

“Can you do it?” he asked.

 

Hermione nodded. “I can, but it took time to learn.”

 

“I’d love to be able to do that,” he said wistfully, nodding toward Mickey, who was drawing the song to a raucous close.

 

“Sing, or play in a band?”

 

“Both,” Draco replied, surprised at his answer. “Well,” he corrected, “perhaps not in a band, as such, but I would love to learn an instrument. I always wanted to, you know.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Hermione questioned.

 

“Father wouldn’t allow it.” Draco sighed. “He said Malfoy men didn’t _play_ music, they _listened_ to it. And then, of course, nothing as crude as this.” He gestured toward the band. “He said it was _unrefined_.”

 

“How did you feel when he was killed in Azkaban after the war?” Hermione asked gently.

 

“Honestly?” Draco asked.

 

“I won’t judge you for your honesty,” Hermione reassured him.

 

Draco took a long drink of his beer to give himself time to think about how to answer her question. Placing his drink on the table, he sighed. “My father was a hard, cold man. Status and appearances were everything to him.” He fiddled with the Malfoy ring on his right hand, fingering the small crest etched into the top. “I tried so hard growing up to please him, to be the perfect Malfoy. I wanted to be just like he was. Then he who—” Draco shuddered “— _Voldemort_ returned. Suddenly my father was a different man entirely. Colder, angrier, quicker to lash out physically. But also a craven, snivelling sycophant who allowed a tyrannical sociopath to enter our home and take it over.”

 

Hermione placed her hand comfortingly on Draco’s arm, gently appealing for him to continue.

 

He finally met her eyes. “My father sacrificed my mother and I to Voldemort to save his own skin. He didn’t have the guts to stand up to the man, so he rolled over like a whipped dog instead. He knew the task I would be assigned before I was even Marked. He _knew_ how unlikely it was I would succeed in that task, and that he was gambling with my life.” Draco paused to take a breath, before continuing quietly, “But he did it anyway.”

 

“So, honestly?” Draco snarled. “I was _glad_ to hear he had been killed in that brawl.” Suddenly, he felt his eyes well up with tears. “ _I was glad, Granger._ What kind of person does that make me? What kind of son derives pleasure from knowing his father was brutally slain?” He angrily swiped at his eyes, embarrassed at his lack of control.

 

“A son who was forced into a life, into a cult, by the person who should have protected him,” Hermione replied, fiercely. “Malfoy, don’t feel guilty for not mourning your father. He should have protected you, he should have been willing to _die_ for you, to shield you from such horrors. But instead, _he_ used _you_ as a shield.”

 

“But still, I…”

 

“But, nothing,” Hermione argued. “You were put in an impossible situation.”

 

“One I’ll never be free of,” Draco muttered bitterly. “People will always see me as Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and blood purist.”

 

“And that’s their problem,” Hermione replied. “You’re trying to do some good in the world. You rejected the ideas you grew up with and saw through Voldemort’s propaganda. You’re proof that people can change if they want to.”

 

Draco stared at the witch sitting beside him. He couldn’t believe that after all the bad things he had done, she seemed to see some good in him. _I don’t deserve her kind words,_ he thought to himself. _I only hope I don’t give her any reason to regret saying them._

 

Impulsively, he leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to hers. He felt her stiffen and immediately pulled back, ashamed. “I—I’m sorry. That was inappropriate,” he mumbled, refusing to look at her.

 

“Malfoy.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up. _“Malfoy.”_ He felt her hand cup his cheek and lift his face so he was looking at her again. Hermione stared at Draco a moment longer before capturing his lips in hers. Eagerly, he responded, his heart pounding.

 

An unknown time later, they broke apart, exchanging shy smiles. “Well,” Hermione whispered, “ _that_ was unexpected.”

 

“I’ve been wanting to do do that since the first time I saw you on stage,” Draco admitted.

 

“Surely not,” Hermione scoffed good-naturedly.

 

“Well, once I got over the shock of discovering my old school rival not only had an enchanting singing voice, but had grown even more beautiful since the last time I had seen her.”

 

Hermione felt herself redden. “Stop,” she murmured, hiding her face in embarrassment and smiling.

 

The band had been playing in the background, unnoticed by Draco and Hermione, but now the upbeat change in tempo as they began a new song captured their attention once more. Draco watched Hermione’s eyes widen in delight, and she jumped from her seat.

 

“I _love_ this song!” she enthused. “Come on, dance with me!” Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled, forcing him to stand.

 

He allowed her to lead her to the dancefloor as Mickey belted out the tune.

 

_I see a bad moon a-risin’_

_I see trouble on the way_

_I see earthquakes and lightning_

_I see a bad time today_

 

Draco couldn’t help but laugh and join in as Hermione enthusiastically jumped around the floor, swinging her hair about as she sang along to the lyrics. Soon he found himself joining in with the chorus,

 

_Don’t go round tonight_

_It’s bound to take your life_

_There’s a bad moon on the rise_

 

The song abruptly ended with a final set of chords on the guitar, and the patrons clapped and cheered.

 

“Thanks, everyone. We’re going to take a short break,” Mickey spoke into the microphone.

 

The house lights rose again and the hum of conversation lifted to fill the sudden silence left by the absence of the band’s presence. Hermione took Draco’s hand again and led him over to the platform.

 

“Hi guys!” she trilled.

 

“Well hello, Hermione.” Mickey smiled. “Who’s this handsome young lad you’ve brought with you tonight?” He winked suggestively at Draco.

 

“Hands off, you!” Hermione admonished playfully.

 

“Sounds like she’s not willing to share. She must like you.” Mickey grinned, still maintaining eye contact with Draco.

 

“Oh, stop!” Hermione laughed. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

 

Mickey looked at her curiously.

 

“Can you show Draco how to play a few chords on the guitar?”

 

“ _Granger! What are you doing?”_ Draco hissed.

 

Hermione, however, paid him no mind. “He’s always wanted to learn, but never had the opportunity,” she explained. “Who better to teach him the basics than the best guitar player in London?” She smiled sweetly at the Irishman, who grinned back at her.

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Hermione.”

 

Turning to Draco, he said, “C’mere while I show you.”

 

Mickey sat on the stage, and Draco sat beside him watching intently.

 

“Now, this is your standard six-string,” Mickey explained. “Each string is a different thickness and the tightness is adjusted here.” He indicated the tuners. “The thickness and tightness affects the pitch.” He wiggled several tuners and plucked their strings.

 

Draco listened and watched for several more minutes as Mickey explained the different parts of the guitar and how sound could be adjusted. Finally, he said, “Right, I’m going to play a few basic chords and then you can give it a crack.” Draco nodded in understanding.

 

Mickey played several chords, making a simple tune, and Draco watched his finger movements carefully.

 

“Your turn.” Mickey handed the guitar to Draco, who adjusted his hold until it felt comfortable across his knee. “Hand position,” he instructed, adjusting the positioning of Draco’s fingers on the neck of the instrument. “Now, play.”

 

Draco plucked the strings, doing his best to emulate the finger movements across the neck as Mickey had done. The sound came out sounding not quite the same, but the tune was recognisable.

 

“Good!” encouraged Mickey. “Now try it again.”

 

Draco did, and was amazed to find it had gotten easier. He tried it a third time, and a fourth, and suddenly the tune sounded exactly like the one Mickey had played a moment before.

 

“You’re a natural!” Mickey beamed, clapping Draco on the shoulder. “Have you thought about taking lessons?”

 

Draco shook his head.

 

“If you want to learn, a mate of mine is a great instructor,” Mickey said. “I’ll give you his number.”

 

“Thanks.” Draco smiled.

 

“How’s he doing, Mickey?” came a voice. Draco looked up to see Hermione standing in front of them, holding several bottles of beer on a tray. She passed them around to Mickey and his bandmates before handing one to Draco and keeping the last for herself.

 

“He’s doing bloody well for someone who’s never held a guitar before.” Mickey grinned. “I’m sending him to Daniel for proper lessons.”

 

Hermione smiled. “You must be doing well if he’s sending you to Dan. Come on.” She gestured. “Let’s go sit so they can finish their break.”

 

Returning to their seats, they sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. Hermione finally  spoke.

 

“How did you become a curse breaker?” she asked curiously.

 

“Well,” he began cautiously, “growing up I was exposed to a lot of dark artifacts. When I got my first wand father insisted on teaching me how to detect and remove dark curses, as well as apply them.” Hermione frowned, but nodded at him to continue.

 

“It was after Voldemort returned that I really got thrown into the world of dark magic,” Draco remembered. “Voldemort was usually too busy terrorising and controlling his followers to bother much with me - at least at first - but my Aunt Bella made it her mission to personally teach me how to use and defend from dark curses.”

 

Draco didn’t fail to notice how Hermione had unconsciously placed her hand over her forearm at the mention of his fanatical aunt, and kicked himself for mentioning her so casually.

 

“I’m fine,” Hermione said softly, seeming to sense his discomfort. “Keep going.”

 

“She would punish me if I didn’t perform to her standards,” Draco continued. “As you’ll be aware, she was particularly fond of the _cruciatus_ curse. She would use it on me if she thought I wasn’t putting enough effort into her lessons.”

 

Hermione’s face darkened with anger. “Crazed, evil bitch,” she hissed.

 

“That’s an understatement,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, by the time the war ended, I had become, through necessity, rather good at dealing with cursed objects and dark magic. I saw a notice in the _Prophet_ requesting help with removing a curse from a building. The owner was a muggleborn who had gone into hiding when the death eaters were hunting them.”

 

“The man had managed to evade the death eaters, but they discovered his place of business and cursed the building, making it uninhabitable. After the war, he was able to come out of hiding but was facing the loss of his livelihood. He didn’t have the knowledge to remove the curse himself and didn’t know anyone who did.”

 

“And you responded?” Hermione prompted.

 

Draco nodded. “I did. I was apprehensive, given the public sentiment toward my family, but he didn’t recognise me so had no clue who I was. I was able to remove the curse.” He shrugged. “From there, it was word of mouth. Mostly other people like that first muggleborn, witches and wizards who had been targeted by the death eaters and needed help dealing with dark magic.”

 

“How did you come to help the ministry?” Hermione asked with interest.

 

“One of the witches I helped had a cousin who worked for the MLE in an admin role,” Draco explained. “He had told her the auror department was struggling to find competent witches and wizards to deal with situations that involved dark magic and powerful curses, and she told him about me.”

 

“It was Spencer who first approached me on behalf of the ministry. At first I declined. I was worried about the animosity I was bound to encounter, and I felt it would reflect badly on the ministry if people knew I was working for them.”

 

“I can understand that,” Hermione empathised.

 

“But Spencer wouldn’t give up,” Draco continued. “He offered me a higher fee, and I told him I didn’t care about money and he could shove his galleons up his arse.” Hermione sniggered. “In the end, we made a deal. I would help aurors with cases that involved dark magic they couldn’t handle on their own, acting as a curse breaker so they could move forward with their missions and investigations, provided as few people as possible knew my true identity.”

 

“After the incident with Yaxley, what will that mean for you?” Hermione asked. Draco was amazed at her ability to articulate exactly what he had been thinking.

 

“I don’t know.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Word is going to get out, and I’m sure not everyone will be understanding of my involvement or actions.”

 

Harry and Ron will support you,” Hermione comforted. “And so will I.”

 

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Draco replied softly. Reaching out to cup her cheek, he leaned in to softly kiss her again before turning back to enjoy the remaining part of their set.

 

Some time later, the set had finished and the patrons began to file out of the pub. Draco and Hermione followed them out, hand in hand.

 

Once on the street, Draco found he couldn’t bear to say goodbye and return alone to the cold and empty manor.

 

“Granger?” he began. She turned to him, a smile on her lips.

 

“Will—” he took a steadying breath “—will you come back to the manor with me?”

 

At the surprised look on her face, he rushed on.

 

“No… not like that. I just…”

 

“Go on, Malfoy,” Hermione urged softly.

 

“It gets lonely at the manor. It’s just me there. Well, me and Pria and the other elves.”

 

Hermione frowned, and he added, “I treat them very well, they aren’t exploited and they are all very happy.”

 

The frown didn’t disappear entirely, but she nodded in acceptance of his statement.

 

It would mean a lot to me if you would just—” he closed his eyes. Merlin, he sounded ridiculous. “—if you would just sleep beside me,” he finished.

 

He watched Hermione’s face anxiously as she mulled it over.

 

“Just to sleep?” she asked skeptically.

 

“Just to sleep,” Draco agreed. “I may be a prat, but I’m still capable of being a gentleman.”

 

Hermione snorted with laughter. “I should hope so,” she teased.

 

Draco offered her his arm, and they walked to a secluded, shadowy spot before he apparated them away.

* * *

 

Hermione lay awake beside Draco in his large, luxurious bed, running the events of that night through her head.

 

She had invited Draco out knowing how damaging it could be to allow oneself to wallow in negative thoughts following a traumatic experience.

 

 _Ron, Harry and the other aurors had their friends, colleagues and families to rally around them, but Malfoy had… no one,_ Hermione had realised. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have cared either way about how Draco Malfoy was coping, but now… she had gotten to see a very different side of him in the last weeks and she could no longer hold any animosity toward him.

 

At the pub, she had seen just how much of a toll the last few years had taken on his psyche. He was so far removed from the cocky, arrogant Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with it was… surreal.

 

But then he had kissed her, and the feelings she had previously denied she was beginning to hold toward him had hit her like a dash of cold water to the face.

 

They had had fun, and there had been moments where he had genuinely smiled and laughed. His smile was charming and his laugh infectious. His grey eyes would twinkle when he teased her.

 

She had been just as surprised as he when she had agreed to return with him to Malfoy Manor, but their surprise was nothing compared to that of the house elves.

 

They had apparated into the foyer, and a petite, young female elf had appeared before them.

 

“Master Draco has brought home a Miss!” she squeaked excitedly. “I is Pria, Miss! Does you need anything? We is so happy to meet you!”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the charming creature. “Hello, Pria. My name is Hermione, and I’m very pleased to meet you also.”

 

“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Draco had asked Hermione. “Pria makes the best cup you’ve ever tasted.”

 

Hermione glanced from Draco to Pria. The elf was staring at her hopefully. Despite her misgivings about allowing house elves to serve, she didn’t want to hurt Pria’s feelings by refusing the offer, so she simply smiled at said, “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

 

Pria positively beamed. “I will be back in just a minutes!” she said before disappearing.

 

Draco had led Hermione into a small sitting room, where they had barely taken their seats before Pria had returned with a tray bearing two steaming mugs, a bowl of marshmallows and a small jug of fresh cream.

 

He had been right - the hot chocolate was _amazing_.

 

Now she felt herself drifting off to sleep, wondering where they would go from here.

* * *

 

Some time later, she was startled awake by screaming.

 

Grabbing for her wand, it took her a moment to realise the sounds were coming from Draco, who was thrashing on the bed.

 

“Pria!” she called, alarmed.

 

The elf appeared and, seeing Hermione’s distress, said, “You must wakes him, Miss! He is having the dream again!”

 

“Draco!” Hermione shook his shoulder vigorously. “Draco! _Wake up!”_

 

Draco bolted upright with a yell and looked around, seemingly disoriented, before dropping his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking.

 

Hermione reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to her breast and making soothing _shush_ ing noises. “It’s okay. You’re at home.”

 

Draco reached out to hold Hermione, choking back sobs. “I’m sorry, Granger!” he gasped. “I have these nightmares sometimes. I—I’m okay.”

 

Hermione turned to Pria, who had been watching anxiously. “Could we have some water please, Pria?” she asked the elf. The creature nodded and disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a cup full of the cool liquid and handing it to the witch.

 

“Drink,” she instructed Draco. He took the glass gratefully and took a long swallow.

 

“Thanks Pria, Granger,” he said quietly.

 

“Is you needing anything else, Master?” Pria asked, taking the glass.

 

“No, thank you Pria. You may go.” The elf nodded and disappeared, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

 

“Will you tell me about your dream?” Hermione prompted softly. Seeing his hesitation, she added, “We all had nightmares after the war. It’s normal. It helped to talk to someone else about those dreams.”

 

“I haven’t talked to anyone about them,” Draco replied quietly.

 

“Talking helps you make sense of the dream, to come to terms with your memories,” Hermione encouraged. “It might not make them go away, but sharing can help shift the weight.”

 

Draco sighed and nodded. Waving his hand to wandlessly light the bedside lamp, he said, “You mentioned back when we first went to that cafe you had read my mother’s obituary.”

 

Hermione nodded, remembering.

 

“What very few people know is how she died. I ensured it was kept out of the papers and that the few witnesses would not say anything. I wanted her to have dignity in death, rather than being the subject of gossip.”

 

Taking a deep breath and reaching for Hermione’s hand, Draco cast his mind back to the day Narcissa had been killed.

 

_She had ventured out to Diagon Alley to do some shopping, reassuring Draco that she would be fine. He felt she shouldn’t be out on her own, given people’s sentiments towards them even three years later. Narcissa had demurred, arguing she was an adult and could take care of herself. Nevertheless, he had insisted on accompanying her._

 

_They had spent an enjoyable afternoon wandering about, and had encountered remarkably little attention - or so it had seemed. They had met Marcus Flint, who had invited them both to join him for a drink at the Hog’s Head. Narcissa had politely declined for herself, but told Draco to go._

 

_“I’ll be fine, Dragon,” she had said, smiling softly at him. “We’ve been fine this whole time, I hardly think I’ll run into any difficulties. Go, go!” she urged him. “I’m sure you’re just itching to talk to someone closer to your age, instead of your boring old mother.”_

 

_Draco had grinned cheekily. “Overbearing maybe, but never boring, mother.”_

 

_Narcissa had pretended to frown, before touching his cheek lovingly. “I’ll be fine,” she had repeated. She had accepted Draco’s kiss on her cheek before pushing him gently in Marcus’ direction. “I think I’ll visit Flourish and Blotts, then head back to the Manor. Take your time. Have fun! Now that’s an order from your mother!” With that, she had turned in the direction of the book shop and Draco had headed to the pub with Marcus._

 

_It was the last time he had seen Narcissa alive._

 

_The had been in the pub barely half an hour when they heard a commotion outside. People began screaming and yelling, amid several small explosions. Draco had felt a cold certainty in his gut and bolted outside, heedless of Marcus yelling behind him to be careful. He had found chaos out on the street. Smoke billowed everywhere, a nearby shop front was in ruins, and shoppers were wandering, dazed and bleeding._

 

_Draco had run panicked towards Flourish and Blotts, calling for Narcissa. Reaching the building, he saw a crumpled female figure with pale blonde hair lying not far from the entrance amid the shattered remains of the store’s picture window._

 

_“NO!” he had screamed, sprinting to her. He had collapsed beside her still form, desperate for signs of life. She was covered in blood. Gently turning her head towards him, he saw she was barely breathing. “What happened? Who did this, Mother?”_

 

_Narcissa’s lips had moved soundlessly at first as she tried to speak. “D-death eaters. Attacked. Cursed me. Coul-couldn’t get. My wand. Up. In time.” She had smiled sadly, a tear running down her cheek, and weakly lifted a hand to rest it over Draco’s. “Love you. My Dragon.” With those final words, the last of Narcissa’s life had ebbed away and the last of Draco’s world had shattered._

 

_A witness to the attack had later described to Draco how several people in death eater robes and masks had appeared suddenly in the busy alley and begun firing curses at people and buildings indiscriminately._

 

_As people had run for cover, one had spotted Narcissa coming out of Flourish and Blotts, and had screamed a challenge at her. “Narcissa Malfoy, you blood traitor! Die, bitch!” Before she had been able to react to defend herself, her attacker had fired a curse at the witch that she had ducked. The curse had hit the glass picture window behind her, which had exploded outward, sending deadly shards all around. Injured, Narcissa had tried to run, but the attacker had fired again, and this time he had not missed. By the time Draco had arrived on the scene, the death eaters had vanished._

 

“It was my fault, Granger. He finished sadly. “I left her alone and she was attacked, and I wasn’t there to protect her.” Draco had been looking down at his and Hermione’s joined hands as he recounted that fateful day, his voice full of regret and guilt, but now he lifted his eyes to her face, sure he would see disgust at his incredible failing.

 

Instead, he was shocked to observe tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

“I can’t even begin to imagine how horrifying that would have been,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry you lost her that way, Draco.”

 

Draco found himself speechless. He had just admitted he had failed to protect Narcissa, resulting in her death, and yet Hermione not only had she _not_ turned away from him in disgust, but seemed to feel the pain he felt.

 

“Granger… _Hermione…”_

 

It felt wonderful to say her name out loud. He reached for her, and she came to him, embracing him tightly. After a few moments, he pulled away so he could gaze at her face. Reaching out with his thumbs, he brushed the few tears from her soft cheeks.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“For what?’ Hermione whispered back.

 

“For being there for me. For… not turning away from me, despite my failings.”

 

“Draco.” Hermione gently placed her hands on either side of Draco’s jaw. “You are _not_ a failure. Your mother being targeted, and those aurors last night who were caught unawares? It is not your fault they died. The things you did after Voldemort returned? You were _forced_ into them, you were still a child!” She shook him gently to emphasise her words.

 

Draco reached up to place his hands over hers, before bringing them to his lips and kissing her fingers. “I’m trying to believe that,” he said quietly. “I really am. But I just keep dwelling on what I could have done differently. I keep thinking if I had only been _stronger,_ less _prideful,_ if I had just _seen_ —”

 

“But you couldn’t have seen,” Hermione interrupted. “You aren’t a seer. You don’t have powers of precognition. You were young when Voldemort returned, facing pressure on all sides, and they had deliberately made you feel isolated - precisely so you _wouldn’t_ seek help elsewhere or tell anybody.”

 

“Dwelling on the past, berating yourself constantly over what you could have said or done differently to change an outcome… it’s like drinking a slow-acting poison. It will slowly eat away at you, killing you a little more each day, until one day you wake up and realise you’re dead inside. Don’t do that to yourself. You can get through this.”

 

Draco nodded. “Will you help me?”

 

“I’ll help you.”

 

Embracing Hermione tightly, Draco drew her back down to the bed and pulled the blankets over them. “Thank you,” he whispered.

* * *

 

The next morning, Hermione was being given a tour of the parts of the Manor Draco used, prior to breakfast.

 

“What time must you be at work?” Draco asked her.

 

“I’m actually working from home most of this week, so I can set my own hours.” She shrugged.

 

Draco couldn’t help smiling, knowing he could enjoy her company a little longer.

 

“Well then, I won’t rush.” He smiled. “Now, this is my study—”

 

“Draco! Has someone been in the house?” Hermione gasped.

 

Draco looked in the direction she was facing and spied the broken mirror and remains of the drinking glass still on the floor. Cursing himself for forgetting about it, he quickly waved his wand to repair the mirror and vanish the drinking glass, then cast a cleaning spell on the carpet to get rid of the alcohol stains.

 

“Umm… no. That was me,” Draco replied quietly.

 

Hermione simply looked at him, waiting for him to go on.

 

“I… well, you’ll think me ridiculous and unstable, but—”

 

“Breaking a mirror doesn’t make you unstable,” Hermione snorted. “Although if you were the superstitious type, you might be concerned about seven years bad luck.”

 

“I’ve broken that mirror several times now,” Draco mused. “So if I were the superstitious type, I’d be looking at at least twenty year’s worth of bad luck.”

 

“Does the mirror not do your face justice, for you to abuse it so?” Hermione teased gently.

 

“Well, in a way,” Draco muttered. Seeing her curious expression, he took a breath.

 

“I drink a lot. Too much.” She nodded. “It’s the way I’ve been dealing with everything ever since the war, and more so since mother passed. I sit in here, and this mirror—” he gestured to it, and the mirror-Draco copied his actions “—it _mocks_ me.”

 

“Go on,” Hermione prompted.

 

“All my inner thoughts come to the surface. I sit facing the mirror, and the mirror-Draco tells me what an awful person I am, reminds me of all the times I’ve fucked up, sneers and laughs. Eventually I can’t stand to listen any more, and I destroy the mirror.”

 

“The mirror-Draco sounds like an asshole,” Hermione stated flatly. “You really shouldn’t listen to him.”

 

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t.”

 

A small pop behind them made them turn. Pria stood, beaming.

 

“Breakfast be ready, Master and Miss! We did not know what the Miss liked so we has made lots of dishes. The other elves is waiting to meet the Miss!”

 

“We’d better go, then.” Draco smiled. “This way to the kitchen!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be looking up!  
> As always, please recommend, review and leave kudos if you're enjoying the story so far :) 


	10. The death eater and the heroine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta CourtingInsanity. I'm so glad to have you on this journey with me <3
> 
> A squeeze of lemons in this chapter. Juicy, juicy lemons.

**_October 31st_ **

 

“Hurry _up,_ Malfoy! We’ll be late!”

 

“All right, Granger. Keep your pants on.”

 

“Perhaps it escaped your notice, Malfoy, but I’m not _wearing_ pants.”

 

Draco walked into the sitting room and grinned lasciviously at Hermione, who was wearing a gangster’s moll costume. It comprised of a form-fitting pinstripe jacket with flared lapels over a low-cut white blouse, and a pencil skirt which matched the jacket.

 

“Indeed you aren’t. Perhaps I should check your knickers are still in place, at least?” Draco smirked.

 

“You stay away from my knickers!” Hermione chastised, pretending to be scandalised.

 

“Still?” Draco pouted.

 

They had been quietly dating for the past month, but had yet to move to the sexual stage. Although Hermione wasn’t a virgin, she hadn’t felt ready yet to consummate their relationship. Draco thought his balls might just explode one of these days, but he was, as he had stated the first time Hermione stayed at the manor with him, a perfect gentleman.

 

Tonight, they were heading to a halloween party at The Broken Shamrock _,_ and had been getting ready at Hermione’s flat.

 

“I take it you’ve finished primping, then?” Hermione sniped, admiring Draco’s costume.

 

He was wearing a pinstripe jacket and trousers similar to hers, with a white waistcoat and black silk shirt. In the breast pocket of the jacket sat a neatly folded red handkerchief.

 

“Hey, I had to get my hair just right.” Draco grinned, donning the grey fedora that finished off the costume as Hermione attached a small black fascinator to her hair and pulled the lace veil down over her eyes. She simply rolled her eyes in response.

 

“Right, where are the guns?” Hermione asked, looking around the room.

 

Draco picked up one of the two toys that had been sitting on Hermione’s couch and looked at it curiously. It was long and slim with a menacing-looking grey barrel and two hand grips, one behind the trigger and a second in front of a round cylinder.

 

“What did you say this was called, again?” he asked curiously.

 

“A Tommy gun.” Hermione picked up the second prop and held it out. “Short for Thompson. They were a type of submachine popular with criminals in the nineteen-thirties, especially those who were involved in organised crime, but they were also used by police officers during that era.”

 

“And what’s with the cylinder?”

 

“It’s called a drum magazine. They could hold more bullets than a standard magazine because they were loaded in a spiral shape instead of in a straight line.”

 

Draco nodded but still looked slightly confused. “Don’t worry,” Hermione reassured him. “Even muggles find the different ways firearms work to be difficult to follow. There are hundreds of different kinds.”

 

“And muggles used these to kill each other?” Draco asked.

 

“They still do,” Hermione replied, frowning slightly. “Firearms are useful tools in the muggle world, but they are easily misused.” Picking up her purse, she added, “Have you got everything?”

 

When he nodded, she took his arm and apparated them both out of her flat.

* * *

  
When they arrived at the pub, it was already busy despite the relatively early hour. Making their way inside, Draco looked toward the bar.

 

“I’ll get the drinks,” he suggested, “if you’ll look for a free spot.”

 

Hermione nodded in agreement and looked around the room, spotting a small round table with high chairs. She moved quickly over and jumped up on a stool, placing her purse on the tabletop. She had been waiting only a few minutes when Draco arrived bearing a tray with two beers and two shots of whiskey.

 

“Cheers!” they toasted each other.

 

“So how will the club cope without you tonight?” Draco grinned at Hermione. Since Halloween fell on a Friday night this year, Hermione had taken the night off from singing at The Blue Jazzist so she could attend the yearly Halloween party at The Broken Shamrock.

 

“Roger has the band playing without me.” She smiled. “He says he’ll manage somehow.”

 

“And when will Larry start back?” Draco asked.

 

“Next weekend, if his doctor gives him the all clear,” Hermione replied. “He’s been working really hard with his physio, and his wiring was taken out a few days ago.”

 

Larry and John were both recovering well from the attacks nearly two months previously, but John was facing a longer recovery time due to the break in his leg. He had hoped to return to work not long after Larry, but his doctor had advised against it as the bones would not be at full strength even once the cast was removed.

 

“I visited John yesterday,” Draco mused. “His wife says he’s driving her crazy.”

 

Hermione laughed. “I can imagine. John never was the type to be happy sitting idle for any length of time.”

 

“Hey, you two! Looking good!”

 

Draco and Hermione turned in the direction of the new voice to see Mickey standing before them and grinning, a drink in his hand.

 

“Hi, Mickey!” Hermione greeted him. “What time are you on?”

 

“About half an hour,” he replied. “Hey, Draco,” he added, turning to the blond man. “Dan says you’re killing it at guitar lessons.”

 

Draco smiled shyly. “Thanks,” he acknowledged. “I’m picking up more combinations now, and I can play about half a dozen songs.”

 

Mickey had given Daniel’s number to Draco the night Hermione had first taken him to the pub, but he hadn’t owned a cell phone and had no idea how to use one. The following day, Hermione had taken Draco back to muggle London to purchase a phone, and had painstakingly taught him how to use it. He enjoyed using the camera function, even if the images didn’t move, but he found it frustrating that the contraption didn’t work in magical areas.

 

Draco had gotten the hang of the cell phone quite quickly and had made contact with Daniel to arrange the lessons. Due to his varying hours, he found himself with many hours free to practice. As a result, his skill in playing the guitar had progressed quickly. He had purchased his own instrument two weeks ago, and planned to have a second one custom-made.

 

“D’ya want to play a few songs through with us tonight?” Mickey invited.

 

Draco’s face lit up, then dropped. “I’d love to, but I don’t know how well I’d go in front of a crowd.”

 

“Ahh, no, you’ll be fine,” Mickey reassured him. “You can come on in the second half of the set when most of the patrons will be a bit pissed, They won’t notice if you miss a chord or two.”

 

“Should I?” Draco turned to Hermione.

 

“Of course!” she insisted. “I’d love to see you play!”

 

Although he had been working hard at his lessons, he’d so far been too shy to show her what he had learned so far.

 

“Hermione, you know our songs,” Mickey added. “You’ll do vocals with me, won’t you?”

 

“Absolutely!” She beamed.

 

“Excellent!” Mickey grinned. We’ll call for you after we have our break.” He looked at his watch. “Shite, I’d better go get ready.” He drained the last of his beer and headed toward the podium, giving them  a wave as he left.

 

Draco turned to Hermione, looking nervous. “I haven’t played in front of anyone before,” he muttered. “What was I thinking?” He ran his hands through his blond locks, tugging at the ends.

 

“Have a drink or two and you’ll be fine,” Hermione reassured him. “Just don’t have _too_ much or you might get sloppy.”

 

“Right.” Draco picked up his beer and swallowed half the contents before returning the glass to the table and belching loudly.

 

“Draco Malfoy! That is not at all refined!” Hermione teased, laughing.

 

Draco just grinned and winked. “I’m liking this whole _unrefined_ thing.” He laughed. “It’s very freeing to be able to act like a normal person instead of being so stiff and formal all the time.”

 

Since he and Hermione had begun dating, she had encouraged him to stop concerning himself so with the traditions of propriety and formality that shackled him and other prestigious pureblood families. He had found it exceedingly difficult at first to let go of a lifetime of deeply ingrained rules and behaviours, but gradually he was beginning to adapt to a more casual way of holding himself and interacting with other people.

 

 _It probably helps that we spend so much time around muggles,_ Draco mused to himself. After repeated trips to muggle areas and interactions with the people there, he couldn’t understand why certain members of wizarding society had long held such animosity toward them. They were very similar to magical citizens, with the only discernible difference being that they had no idea magic really existed.

 

Their attention was captured at that moment by the familiar sounds of the band preparing to begin their set.

 

“Tell me again why I agreed to get up there and play,” Draco said, uncertainty written across his face as he looked toward the platform.

 

“Because it’s fun and you’ll have a great time once you get into it.” Hermione smiled. “But just in case, I’ll get us another round.”

 

She ducked away to the bar, and Draco watched her go with a faint smile on his face. _What did I do to deserve her?_ He wondered to himself. He still found it hard to believe they had actually been seeing each other for the past few weeks.

 

Since the first time she had taken him to The Broken Shamrock, Draco’s urges to drink excessively had greatly lessened and his nightmares were growing less frequent. Hermione consented to stay at the manor with him two or three nights a week, and he would stay with her at her flat at least one night a week. He found it difficult to be apart from her for any length of time, but understood she was an independent witch who liked her own space, and he was afraid of smothering her.

 

Draco was pulled from his musings by Hermione returning with the drinks. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, accepting the pint she handed him. He drank deeply, then placed the glass down to listen to the band launch into their first song of the night. The opening instrumental was long, but he found himself immediately liking it. He glanced over at Hermione and wondered why she was smirking. “What?” he asked, but she just shook her head.

 

His head suddenly snapped up as the lyrics caught his attention. Mickey was singing about _magic._

 

_“Got a black magic woman_

_Got a black magic woman_

_I’ve got a black magic woman, got me so blind I can’t see_

_That she’s a black magic woman and she’s trying to make a devil out of me.”_

 

Hermione laughed as she swayed to the music. Grinning, Draco grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to the space in front of the platform, where he swung her into a simple cha-cha. They stepped in unison forward and back, and when he guided her out to spin she moved with ease and grace, nestling comfortably into his chest when she twirled her body back toward his.

 

At the end of the song, they paused for breath and were surprised to hear cheers and applause. Looking around, Draco noticed the rest of the patrons had been watching, and smiled shyly while Hermione ducked her head and blushed.

 

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Hermione asked as they made their way back to their seats.

 

“Families like mine attended a lot of balls and galas,” Draco explained. “It was expected all the children of wealthy pureblood families learn a wide variety of dances from a young age.”

 

“It’s just that… _Latin_ dancing doesn’t seem like a style I would expect wealthy pureblood families to to take an interest in,” Hermione mused, frowning slightly.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s such a passionate style of dance,” Hermione elaborated. “It’s fast-paced and sensual, and pureblood families seem to be… well…” She paused uncomfortably, not wishing to offend Draco.

 

“Seem to be what?” he prompted her, smiling.

 

“So stuffy and _… snooty!”_ Hermione exclaimed. “I simply can’t imagine a room full of purebloods dancing a merengue or a rumba.”

 

Draco laughed heartily. “And what types of dances _would_ you expect to see a roomful of purebloods engaging in?”

 

“Old fashioned ones. Waltzes, court dances of the renaissance period, that kind of thing,” Hermione replied, waving her hand and shrugging.

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “How stereotypical of you Granger,” he teased.

 

“I— _I’m not!_ I simply—!” Hermione stuttered, blushing furiously. She picked up her drink and took a mouthful in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

 

Draco laughed again, a proper laugh. _Merlin, this is wonderful,_ he thought to himself. _I’m in a muggle pub, joining in a muggle Halloween celebration, and I swear it’s the best party I’ve ever been to._

 

“Face it, Granger,” he mocked, smirking. “You’re just as capable of prejudice as us purebloods are.”

 

“Well… well...” Hermione struggled to offer a rebuttal as Draco watched on in amusement. “You lot are _more_ prejudiced! So there!” she blurted suddenly. To complete her outburst, she poked her tongue out at him in defiance.

 

“Very mature, Granger,” Draco observed drily.

 

“Shut up, ferret,” Hermione muttered into her beer, fixing him with a glare.

 

“I guess this means I won,” the blond boasted in a sing-song voice. “Slytherin comes out on top again!”

 

“There will be no coming, on top or otherwise, if you don’t shut it,” Hermione growled before tipping back her glass to swallow the last of her drink.

 

The arrogant grin Draco has been wearing dropped from his face so quickly, Hermione burst into laughter, spluttering into her glass and getting beer up her nose.

 

“Owww!” she complained through her mirth, rubbing at her face.

 

“Wait. Granger, what do you mean?”

 

“What do you _think_ I mean?” Hermione smiled at his coquettishly, batting her eyelashes. “Another drink?”  She turned away from him and wandered languidly over to the bar, hips swaying slightly in the fitted skirt she wore.

 

Draco sat at the table like a stunned mullet, frantically trying to decipher what her last comment had meant.

 

_“...coming, on top or otherwise…”_

 

Did this mean what he hoped it meant?

 

He was suddenly aware he had a very persistent erection, so persistent he was afraid he might make a hole in the front of his trousers. Looking around surreptitiously, Draco attempted to adjust his standing position so that his condition would not be obvious to anyone who happened to look in their direction.

* * *

  
Hermione smirked to herself as she headed toward the bar. _I_ _won,_ she thought triumphantly. The look on Draco’s face had been priceless.

 

She had indeed meant what he thought she meant, but there was no way in hell she was going to confirm either way. No, it was far more entertaining to make him sweat for the rest of the evening.

 

Hermione was anticipating the end of the night, when she planned to return to the manor with Draco and shag the blond wizard senseless. It had been far too long since she’d gotten laid and she had wanted to jump on his cock the first time she had stayed at the manor with him, the kisses they had shared awakening in her a long-suppressed raw desire to be filled and fucked. .

 

However, her parents had been on the conservative side and had bought her up with the expectation that one should spend some time getting to know the person they were dating before immediately diving between the sheets with them.

 

“Sex always changes things, Hermione,” Jean Granger had insisted on more than one occasion. “It’s important to find out if you have common interests and compatibility in a non-sexual sense before you take the big step, or you may find you’re together for all the wrong reasons and that he is entirely unsuitable.”

 

Having been dating for a month - albeit very discreetly - Hermione had decided she’d waited quite long enough, thank you. She was certain they were intellectually compatible, at least; and although they had very different backgrounds and an acrimonious history, they had so far been able to keep their past issues from interfering with their current relationship.

 

She ordered the drinks and returned to the table, making sure to school her features into an innocent, relaxed expression that would belie her true intentions. Harry had told her once that her poker face was the most convincing he had ever seen, so she used this to her full advantage now. Voicing the innuendo just previously had caused the anticipation Hermione had been feeling to flare into arousal, and she fought the urge to squeeze her thighs together, lest Draco notice and she gave the game away.

 

Hermione watched Draco carefully and chuckled inwardly to herself. He was staring at her intently as she handed him his glass, giving him a sweet smile. “The band should be stopping for a break soon,” she said, looking toward the platform where a crowd of costume-clad patrons were dancing enthusiastically to _Cotton Eye Joe._

 

Draco started and immediately began to look nervous.

 

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him, sliding her arm around his waist. “Once you start playing, you’ll forget all about the audience.”

 

“Do you still get nervous singing in front of a crowd?” Draco asked Hermione curiously.

 

“Not any more.” She shook her head. “I used to get jelly jegs before every performance for ages, but I’ve become accustomed to it now.”

 

Meanwhile, the song had ended and Mickey was announcing their break. Several minutes later, he returned to their table.

 

“You still keen, Draco?” he asked, grinning.

 

“Ummm... yes and no?” Draco mumbled.

 

“That’s what I want to hear!” Mickey smiled. “There’s a spare guitar behind the platform. Listen for my lead and just follow the chords, you’ll pick them up quickly. We’re on again in twenty minutes.” With a wave, he headed into the crowd.

 

Hermione was looking forward to singing, but even more so she was anticipating listening to Draco play. He played down his skill, but Dan had told her he was exceptionally good for someone who had only been learning for a few weeks.

 

Soon, Mickey was back on stage and announcing them. Hermione took Draco by the hand and led him through the crowd.

* * *

 

“We have a very special treat for you for the second half of our set, folks,” Mickey announced into the microphone. “We have two special performers joining us on stage. Give it up for my good mates, Draco and Hermione!”

 

The crowd clapped and cheered enthusiastically in response.

 

Draco thought he might vomit. _Why_ had he agreed to this? He was sure he would mess up the cues, get flustered, hit the wrong chords, or that he would just freeze up completely and be utterly incapable of making any movements at all.

 

Hermione was leading him through the crowd, smiling and waving as they made their way toward the platform. They stepped up to take their places, and Mickey and his bandmates each reached out to shake Draco’s hand and kiss Hermione lightly on the cheek.

 

Draco spotted the spare guitar and picked it up, slinging the strap over his shoulder. It was similar to his own, with a beautiful dark finish and etchings on the base. He began twiddling the tuners and plucking the strings, listening for the subtle sounds that would tell him the instrument would play the at the correct pitch. As he carried out these simple motions, he was surprised to feel some of his nervousness seeping away, to be replaced by a flutter of excitement.

 

Mickey took a few steps over to him. “You ready, Draco?” he asked. Draco nodded. “Great! Just listen for the chord changes and if you get stuck, play a simple four-time.”

 

Mickey moved back to the front and handed Hermione a second microphone and cued in the rest of the band. A simple beat began to play and Draco listened for a few moments to pick up the tune, before cautiously beginning to strum along to the instrumental as Mickey and Hermione began to sing.

 

_On a cobweb afternoon,_

_In a room full of emptiness_

_By a freeway I confess_

_I was lost in the pages of a book full of death;_

_Reading how we'll die alone._

_And if we're good we'll lay to rest,_

_Anywhere we want to go._

 

Draco was relieved that the basic tempo wasn’t too difficult to follow, and found himself buoyed by the cleansing act of playing the instrument in his hands. Soon he was swept up in the joy of simply playing, and of being a part of the group. Exhilarated, he found himself singing along to the chorus of the songs they played as he began to anticipate them.

 

Before he knew it, Mickey was announcing the final song of the night, and Draco found himself feeling slightly disappointed that it was nearly over.

He swung into the instrumental, which was simple but pleasant to play, as Mickey and Hermione turned to their microphones once more.

_“There is a house in New Orleans_

_They call the Rising Sun_

_It’s been the ruin of many a poor boy_

_And God, I know I’m one.”_

 

The song was over in a moment, and Draco felt a momentary sense of loss.

 

“Thank you, everyone, you’ve been brilliant!” Mickey called over the microphone as the crowd began to cheer and clap. “And please give an extra big hand for our special guests, Draco and Hermione!” The crowd erupted into whistles, shouts, and louder cheers, and Draco found himself grinning like a fool as he stepped forward to give a small bow.

 

“You did brilliantly!” Hermione enthused, smiling up at him. She was flushed with the exertion of singing and the temperature in the room, and her eyes shone. Draco thought she had never looked more beautiful. Caught up in the moment, he pulled her in for a searing kiss, not caring they were still on the platform in front of the crowd.

 

When they pulled apart, they were both breathless.

 

“Can I get a smooch too, Draco?” said a voice in his ear. Laughing, Draco turned to look at Mickey and the other band members, who were all grinning happily at him.

 

“You were brilliant, mate!” said Michael, who was one of the bass players. The others murmured in agreement, slapping him on the arm companionably.

 

“Thanks,” Draco murmured shyly as he removed the instrument from around his neck. “Thanks for letting me play with you. It was fun.” He handed the guitar to Michael, who placed it upright against the drum set behind him.

 

“You adapted quickly and kept up brilliantly,” Michael complimented him. “I’m impressed.”

 

“I didn’t want it to end,” Draco admitted, not quite able to believe the camaraderie he was suddenly a part of.

 

“Right! Drinks!” Hermione announced. “My round!”

 

“I don’t think so, Granger,” Draco growled. “It’s my turn to get the drinks.”

 

“I’ll paper-scissors-rock you for it,” the witch challenged him.

 

Draco froze internally. What the hell was paper-scissors-rock?

 

“Ahh, go on Hermione,” Mickey interjected, inadvertently saving Draco from in awkward situation. “Let the man stand a round.”

 

Hermione huffed and waved her hand. “Very well, then.”

 

Draco grinned and headed to the bar to make his order, feeling more real than he had in a long time. He was actually having fun, not just keeping up appearances, and was finally a part of something. He was among people who didn’t know his past and therefore wouldn’t judge him for his past sins or ostracise him. He finally had _purpose,_ and that purpose was Hermione Granger.

* * *

 

Later that night, they arrived back at the manor, stumbling through the floo and clutching grease-spotted paper bags from a place called McDonalds.

 

They had both had too much to drink to apparate safely, so they had taken a cab back to Hermione’s flat first, detouring on the way for food, and then used her floo to reach the manor. Hermione had suggested just staying at her place, but Draco had argued they should go back to the manor.

 

“The elves are planning to put on a breakfast for us - well, for you - in the morning,” he explained. “They’ll be disappointed if we don’t return.”

 

Hermione had frowned. “They really don’t have to—”

 

“They _want_ to,” Draco interrupted her, smiling slightly. “They adore you, even if you _did_ once try and free all their kind from their enslavement to wizards.”

 

Hermione had long abandoned her goal to have every elf in the wizarding world either freed or paid wages, but she was still passionate about the fair treatment of all magical creatures and constantly worried about enabling their exploitation or making them do things they didn’t want to do. Although she was happy to have a good rapport with Draco’s house-elves, she found it hard to accept allowing them to do things for her that she was capable of doing for herself. The only way Draco could convince her to capitulate with little protest was to remind her that her refusals would make them unhappy.

 

Sighing, Hermione nodded and gave him a slight smile. “Well, I don’t want to disappoint them,” she recanted. “Let me just say hello to Athena and check on her food.”

 

Draco watched as Hermione gave the owl, who was balanced on her perch, a gentle pat and a scratch above the beak before checking her food bowl and topping it up with some chopped meat.

 

“Okay, let’s go.” She took his hand and led him to the floo, and in moments they were swallowed by the green flames.

 

As soon as they stepped out of the fireplace at the manor, Hermione headed to the now-familiar sitting room and opened the bag she was clutching. Draco sat down next to her and opened his own bag, salivating at the delicious smell that wafted up to greet him.

 

“Explain to me what this McDonald’s place is?” Draco asked as they unwrapped their food and began to eat. He took a bite of the burger he’d chosen - Hermione told him it was called a “ _Quarter Pounder_ ” - and hummed in pleasure. It was greasy, and warm, and oozing with melted cheese and sauce. “Granger, this is fantastic!” he exclaimed.

 

“It’s a fast-food restaurant popular in the muggle world,” she explained. “It originated in America, but there are branches all over the world. It’s considered junk food, because as you can tell, the menu items are laden with fat and salt.” She took another bite, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “It’s incredibly unhealthy and not something one should eat every day, but it’s a nice treat and—” she giggled “—a must for after a drinking session, to absorb the alcohol.”

 

“There are so many great thing about the muggle world,” Draco mused, taking a handful of fries. “I pity the wizards and witches who are utterly ignorant of things like fast food and cellphones, and that other thing with the moving pictures that tell a story - what are they called, again? - moonies?”

 

“ _Movies,”_ Hermione corrected him, smiling.

 

Just last week she had taken Draco to see _XxX,_ the new action movie starring Vin Diesel. He had been utterly enthralled by the moving pictures, the loud sounds, and the developing story, complete with explosions and stunts. The experience of sitting in a darkened room with a bunch of other people, munching snacks and slurping something Hermione had called _fizzy drink_ , had added to his enjoyment.

 

“Can we go again?” he had asked her immediately after the lights in the theatre had come back on, and Hermione had laughed sweetly and nodded.

 

Finishing up their meal, Draco stood and extended his hand to Hermione, helping her rise. Pulling her toward him, he captured her lips in a sweet kiss, tasting the remnants of salt. She sighed happily and melted into him, parting her lips to give him better access, and he deepened the kiss. The words she had spoken earlier that night, which had been floating in the back of his head, popped into the forefront of his mind as he felt her press her pelvis into him, grinding against his growing excitement.

 

Pulling away, she smiled at him and took his hand, leading him toward the stairs leading to his wing. Draco felt his heart rate increase in nervous excitement, hoping that he had correctly interpreted her innuendo.

 

Reaching the bedroom, Hermione dropped Draco’s hand, walking to the centre of the room and turning to face him. Smiling softly, she reached out and unbuttoned his coat, sliding it from his shoulders. Next, her hands went to his tie, loosening it before tugging him toward her and connecting her mouth with his.

 

Draco’s arms slid around Hermione’s waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he deepened their kiss. He felt her hands slide down his front, her fingers working nimbly at the buttons of his waistcoat before moving to his shirt. Her warm hands gently pushed the shirt over his arms, allowing it to slide to the floor. She giggled at the sight of his tie against his bare chest, but frowned sadly at the deep and ugly scar running diagonally along the length of his chest.

 

“I’m so sorry Harry did this to you,” she sighed. “Does it still pain you?”

 

“Sometimes,” he admitted, “but you shouldn’t be sorry. It wasn’t you who cast the spell. And I’ve long forgiven Potter for it.” Lifting her hand to his, he kissed her fingers. “Are you sure about this?”

 

“Yes.” She smiled.

 

Draco kissed her fingers once more in reply, then released her hand so he could undress her. Slowly, achingly, he undid the buttons on her jacket, then her blouse, parting them to reveal a green satin bra tipped with lace which pushed her breasts up invitingly. He marvelled at her creamy skin, lightly dusted with freckles.

 

Hermione reached for his belt, unbuckling it quickly and pushing his trousers down his ankles, while Draco reached around Hermione’s waist, searching for the zipper of her skirt. He found it, but much to his consternation he couldn’t seem to get it down. Growing increasingly self conscious, he kept tugging at the contraption but it wouldn’t budge.

 

Giggling, Hermione reached behind her. “There’s a hook above the zip,” she explained, undoing it.

 

Finally, the errant zip gave way and Draco released the material, allowing the skirt to flop softly to the floor. She was wearing a delicate pair of panties which matched her bra, clinging lovingly to her hips. Turning her gently, he admired the gentle curve of her arse, positioned below a slim waist.

 

His hands reached up and released the catch of her bra, allowing it to fall from her small shoulders, and she turned toward him again, now clad only in her panties.

 

“Good Godric, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

 

Hermione blushed in response, looking down bashfully at the floor. Draco caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face to him so he could gaze upon her. Gently, he moved her back toward the bed until her legs were pressed against the side. Laying her down, Draco planted soft kisses from her jaw, along her neck and down her chest until he reached her breast.

 

Smirking up at Hermione, Draco took the bud into his mouth, running his tongue along it and nupping gently. He was rewarded by a gasp of pleasure from his witch. He released the nipple with a soft _plop_ and blew, watching in fascination as it hardened in response. Moving his head across, Draco began worshipping the second nipple as he had the first, eliciting more moans and sighs.

 

Chuckling, Draco abandoned Hermione’s breasts, causing her to give a soft whimper of protest that was quickly silenced as he began kissing his way slowly down her abdomen. As he neared her hips, she began to twitch slightly, and he grinned to himself. Changing direction abruptly, he began trailing kisses down the inside of her thigh toward her knee, and then back up the other leg.

 

“Draco…” Hermione whimpered softly.

 

“Yes, Hermione?” He hummed.

 

“ _Please!_ ” she gasped.

 

Draco smirked. Now - _now_ he would get his delicious revenge for earlier in the evening, when she had thrown him into turmoil and then played the innocent to perfection.

 

“Please, what?” he murmured.

 

“I...  I need…”

 

“Hmmm?” Draco ran his nose softly over her panties, inhaling her scent and causing her to mewl in frustrated pleasure, bucking her hips. He could feel her heat and see her arousal beginning to seep through her knickers.

 

“Seven hells, Draco!” she finally growled. “Stick your tongue in my pussy, already!”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco murmured.

 

Slowly, he slid Hermione’s knickers down her thighs, taking a moment to savour the sight of her swollen and needy pussy before him. Darting his head forward, he slowly ran the tip of his tongue from her entrance to her clit, tasting her.

 

“Aahhhhh!” Hermione threw her head back and moaned loudly, grabbing handfuls of Draco’s hair and pulling him closer. “More!” she demanded.

 

Grinning, Draco returned his attentions to her, gently laving her clit with his tounge as he slid one finger, then two, into her soaking pussy.

 

“Oh _gods,_ yes!” Hermione cried, thrusting her hips up into his face.

 

Draco curled his fingers until he felt the small bump inside her, making sure to press against it as he thrust his fingers in and out of her at a steady rhythm while his tongue kept up its own tempo.

 

Hermione began to pant and gasp, and he could feel her walls clenching around him. Knowing she was close, he redoubled his efforts, flicking her clit with increasing speed as his fingers continued to work. Moments later she was coming undone round him, wailing in pleasure as she rode her high.

 

Finally, her body relaxed, and she sprawled bonelessly on the bed, smiling down at him. Pulling himself up the bed, Draco positioned himself over her, ready to slide into her waiting heat, but instead she flipped him over onto his back and slid down his torso, grinning devilishly at him as she came level with his throbbing cock. Taking it gently in one hand and watching him all the while, Hermione ran her tongue softly around the head, causing a drop of cum to ooze from the top.

 

“Oh, Morgana!” Draco moaned, as Hermione took his length into her mouth.

 

He watched her in fascination as she bobbed up and down his cock, never taking her eyes off his. It was so sultry and erotic, he feared he would cum right then, and he desperately tried to shift his thoughts elsewhere. The feeling of her warm mouth sliding up and down his shaft as her tongue swirled around the tip was driving him mad. He had to have her _now._

 

Stretching out his arms, he pulled her gently toward him. Hermione moved back up until she was positioned above his hips. Reaching between her legs, she slowly guided him into her, sighing in pleasure as his cock filled her.

 

Feeling her tight, wet heat around his cock was pure heaven. Draco groaned as she began to ride him, hoping he would be able to hold on. The sight of her breasts bouncing as as she moved nearly bought him undone. He reached up to cup them, tweaking the nipples and eliciting a low moan from her. Sliding his hand down her abdomen, Draco focused his attentions on Hermione’s clit, stroking it gently in time with her thrusts.

 

“Draco! That’s _perfect!”_ she sighed.

 

Knowing he couldn’t last much longer, he increased his speed, and was rewarded by the change in her breathing and her walls clenching around his cock that told him she was close. A minute later, she was coming undone again, crying out and thrusting her hips uncontrollably. Feeling the pressure below his cock building to the point of no return, Draco exploded inside her with a guttural moan.

 

Spent, Hermione collapsed on top of him, gasping. Draco gently rolled his hips so they were lying on their sides, facing each other. Stroking her face, he languidly kissed her, causing her to sigh happily.

 

“That was… _amazing,”_ Hermione murmured, her eyes closed.

 

“If you can stand to wait half an hour or so, prepare to be amazed a second time.” Draco smirked.

 

“I hope the second performance will meet the standard of the first,” she teased him gently.

 

“I expect to exceed your expectations,” Draco retorted, caressing her sides. “But until that time, I intend to drive you mad with lust.”

 

Sliding his hand down to her arse, Draco gently squeezed one cheek before slapping it lightly. “You’re a very brazen witch, you know,” he said sternly. “Losing yourself in your pleasure like that. And such language out of that pretty mouth.” He kissed her roughly, nibbling on her bottom lip and causing her to sigh.

 

Hermione flushed with embarrassment and looked down at his gentle admonishment. “I’ve never said—” she bit her lip. “I was raised not to use such language. I don’t know what came over me.”

 

Sliding his hand down until he was cupping her just below her knee, Draco pulled her leg over his hip. “I would fully encourage you to use such language more often,” he murmured. Reaching between their bodies, he found her clit again, causing her to hum in pleasure and close her eyes.

 

“Well?” he asked. “What do you have to have to say for yourself?”

 

“What can I say?” Hermione murmured as Draco’s flingers slid slowly, teasingly along her swollen bud. “I like sex. I like to fuck.”

 

“A woman after my own heart,” Draco hummed as he watched her face contort under his ministrations.

 

“Mmmmm,” she sighed as she lost the capability for coherent conversation.

 

Soon, she was coming for the third time that night, and not long after Draco was positioned above her, slowly and deliciously sliding into her once again. This time, their lovemaking was slow and sensuous, gradually building until they were reaching their peak together.

 

Finally sated, Draco and Hermione fell asleep, their bodies entwined around each other.

* * *

 

The next morning, Draco and Hermione sat companionably together at the bench in the kitchen, enjoying the breakfast feast the elves had put together for them. Under Pria’s close supervision, they had put together bacon, eggs, sausages, hash browns and toast, with coffee and tea to wash it down with.

 

“Good morning, Master Malfoy and Miss Hermie!” Pria announced. “I hope you is both enjoying your breakfasts?”

 

“Good morning!” Hermione replied. “Yes, thank you Pria. The breakfast is delicious. You and the other elves have really outdone yourselves.”

 

The small elf beamed and bowed low at the compliment. “Thank you, Miss Hermie! Pria will tell the other elves, they will be most happy!” She produced a folded package and handed it to Draco. “The _Prophet_ is arriving, Master Malfoy.”

 

“Thank you, Pria,” Draco acknowledged, smiling.

 

“Is there anything else you is requiring?” Pria asked.

 

“No, thank you, Pria.”

 

“Very well. Pria will be goings now.” With a pop, the elf disappeared.

 

Draco untied the paper and opened it out, taking a gulp of juice as he ran his eye over the headline. Suddenly, he sprayed his mouthful of juice over the counter in shock, his eyes wide.

 

“Draco, what is it?” Hermione asked worriedly.

 

Coughing, Draco turned the paper so she could see it.

 

Hermione saw what had caused the reaction and growled angrily, snatching up the paper so she could read the article.

 

**_The Death Eater and the War Heroine: Strange bedfellows, indeed_ **

_By Rita Skeeter_

 

_Shock will no doubt reverberate around the wizarding world today as it is revealed one-time death eater Draco Malfoy and war heroine Hermione Granger seem to have formed an alliance._

_This correspondent has gained access to a number of photos, taken just last night, of Miss Granger frolicking with Mister Malfoy at a muggle drinking establishment. The two were seen to be very cozy, canoodling throughout most of the night and even sharing an intimate dance as a muggle band played._

 

_It is not known how long Miss Granger has been consorting with such an unsavoury character. Mister Malfoy faced a trial before the Wizengamot immediately after the war, accused of letting known death eaters into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and being complicit in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, who was at the time the Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the greatest wizards ever known._

 

 _One thing this correspondent_ **_does_ ** _know, dear readers, is this: Miss Granger should surely know better than to be seen spending her time with a man whose family name has so spectacularly fallen from grace. Is she under the control of Mister Malfoy, perhaps influenced by a dark curse; or has she begun to drift away from the light and toward the dark?_

 

_Only time will tell._

  


Accompanying the inflammatory article were several magical photos of herself and Draco inside The Broken Shamrock, dancing, talking with other muggles, smiling and sharing a small kiss.

 

“ _Incendio!”_ Hermione snarled, and the paper burst into flames. “That bitch Skeeter will regret this,” she seethed as she brushed soot from her hands and clothes. “I _warned_ her! Clearly, she is in need of a little reminder.”

 

Standing, Hermione stalked toward the door.

 

“Granger… Hermione! Where are you going?” Draco called after her.

 

Hermione turned again to face him.

 

“Who of your friends is the most convincing at deception?” she asked him.

 

“Deception…?” Draco repeated, confused. “I… suppose that would be Blaise.”

 

“Can I ask him to come over, please?” she asked tightly.

 

Draco nodded slowly. “What’s going on?”

 

“I’ll explain later,” she replied. “”Right now, I need to speak with him. I have something to ask of him, and I’ll need to borrow your owl.”

 

Hermione walked into Draco’s study, looking for Aeneas. He wasn’t on his perch, so she opened the window and called for him. After a few moments, he came swooping in from the trees beyond the manor.

 

“Good morning, Aeneas. You’re as handsome as ever, I see.” Hermione gently stroked the bird’s feathers and gave him a scratch above his beak, and Aeneas closed his eyes and hooted softly.

 

“That bloody thing likes you more than he likes me,” grumbled Draco from the doorway. “You have him eating out of your hand, just like everyone else you meet.”

 

“You’re not _jealous,_ you, Malfoy?” Hermione teased, smirking.

 

Draco sniffed haughtily. “Well, we can’t all be the golden girl,” he sniped.

 

“I could brew you a polyjuice potion if you fancy taking on the role of a Gryffindor female, if you’d like?” she offered.

 

“No, thank you. I rather like the body parts I currently have.” Grinning, he made his way over to Hermione and reached out to pat Aeneas.

 

“Ow! Cursed bird!” Draco glared at his owl and sucked on his hurt fingers, Aeneas having just nipped him sharply.

 

“Aeneas! That’s not polite!” Hermione chided softly, and Draco could have sworn that demon creature actually looked slightly abashed.

 

“Now,” Hermione’s tone was suddenly businesslike, “I need to get a message to Blaise Zabini as quickly as possible. Are you up for a delivery?”

 

Aeneas bobbed his head, and Hermione smiled. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

 

“Can I have quill and parchment, please?” she asked Draco.

 

Wordlessly, Draco fetched the items she needed while Hermione summoned the jar of owl treats, offering Aeneas a generous handful. Once the implements were in front of her, Hermione picked up the quill and scribbled a quick note in her small but tidy hand.

 

“Are you ready?” she asked Aeneas when she was finished, and he held out his foot obediently. Hermione tied the letter and with a final soft hoot, Aeneas took off out the window, soaring into the morning sky.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, now?” Draco asked curiously.

 

“Nope. Not until Blaise gets here. And then, not until I succeed.”

 

Draco groaned. “You sure do love your mystery.”

 

Hermione snorted. “I also love reminding nosy, lying journalists what happens when they mess with me and the people I care about. You'll find out more soon enough.”

 

Without another word, she walked out of the room, Draco following dazedly behind and wondering what the hell he was getting into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, snap.
> 
> *singsong voice* somebody's in trouble...
> 
> Hermione (and I!) have plans for a certain scheming blonde journalist. What do you think will happen? 
> 
> Until next week, lovelies! ;)


	11. Just as safe as riding a broom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, lovelies!  
> I know some followers have been waiting to see how Hermione deals with Rita - I hope you enjoy the result!
> 
> In this chapter I've taken some creative liberties with Draco's knowledge of Rita in an animagus - although in the canon he knows she is one, for the sake of the way the story flows I've changed it so he was previously unaware!
> 
> Thanks as always to CourtingInsanity for helping me with the tricky bits and fixing my errors :)

 

“Well, look who’s famous,” purred a silken voice.

 

Draco and Hermione had been waiting for Blaise in the library, and both turned in the direction of his voice.

 

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Blaise.” Hermione smiled and stood to greet him.

 

“Granger, you beautiful creature.” Blaise smiled flirtatiously, taking her hand and gently kissing her knuckles. “When are you going to run away with me?”

 

“When you stop being an incorrigible womaniser.” She laughed. 

 

“That is never going to happen,” Blaise declared.

 

“Then, alas! We can never be together!” Hermione sighed dramatically.

 

“Blaise, you’re one of my closest friends, but I would duel you to the death for her,” Draco growled. He grabbed Hermione from behind and swung her around in a circle, causing her to erupt into giggles. 

 

“Duel? Are you serious?” Blaise snorted. “And ruin my clothes? You must be joking.” He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and straightened his collar haughtily.

 

The formalities completed, Blaise flopped down into an overstuffed armchair while Hermione and Draco sat on the couch opposite.

 

“Tea, Blaise?” Draco offered.

 

“I’d prefer some whiskey.” Blaise grinned.

 

“Bit early, isn’t it?” Hermione sniped.

 

Blaise shrugged. “The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere in the world.”

 

Hermione laughed. “Where did you learn that phrase?”

 

“I had a brief dalliance with a charming muggle woman whose father was in the navy,” Blaise explained.

 

“Pria!” Draco called.

 

The little elf appeared immediately, bearing a tray with a teapot, cups, milk and sugar. 

 

“Pria has prepared the tea, Master Malfoy.” She smiled. “Is Mister Zabini wanting the whiskey instead?” 

 

Blaise laughed. “No, tea will be fine, thank you, Pria.”

 

The elf nodded. “If there be nothing else, Pria will go.”

 

Draco nodded, and she disappeared with a small pop.

 

“Now, what’s this about a muggle phrase and what is this  _ navy _ thing?” Draco frowned. He really did hate being left out of things.

 

“The sun being over the yardarm refers to the position of the sun over a ship at sea,” Hermione explained. “Sailors would use the sun’s position to tell the time, and when it was above the highest mast the ship’s officers would go below decks and have their first tot of rum for the day.” Draco nodded in understanding. “The phrase is thought to have originated from this practice and is now commonly used to justify drinking hard liquor prior to eleven am, the rationale being that it’s after eleven somewhere in the world.”

 

Draco laughed. “That’s brilliant! I must remember that one.” He paused. “Now, what’s a navy? Is it like the colour?”

 

Hermione giggled and shook her head. “No, it’s a part of the muggle military, but they operate primarily on the water, spending their time on ships.” At Draco’s puzzled expression, she added, “I’ll take you to a military museum sometime. You’ll be able to see some of the equipment that has been used throughout history.”

 

“Shall we get down to business?” Blaise interrupted politely. “Am I correct to assume I’m here because of that hit piece Skeeter wrote about the two of you?”

 

Remembering the reason for Blaise’s visit, Hermione glowered. “Yes, you would be correct. I’m going to remind her why it’s a bad idea to publish shit about me and the people I care about, and I need your help to reel her in.”

 

Blaise sat up, his expression brightening, and leaned forward with interest. “Ohhh! I sense a juicy retaliation! Do tell!”

 

Hermione smirked in response. “I need you to go and see her with a bogus tip-off about where Draco and I plan to go for a cosy date. Play it so that she’ll be quite unable to resist following it up.”

 

Blaise grinned. “I take it you won’t actually be there?”

 

“Oh, but that’s the best part. We will be. But, if you play her as well as I know you can, she won’t know that we’re expecting her.”

 

“What aren’t you telling me, Granger?” Blaise regarded Hermione shrewdly. “There’s a vital piece of the puzzle missing, and I want to know what it is.” He turned to Draco, who was frowning slightly in confusion. “I don’t suppose  _ you _ know, Drake?”

 

Draco shook his head. “I’m just as intrigued as you, Blaise.”

 

“You’ll both find out soon enough,” Hermione replied. “But first, we have to get her to take the bait.”

 

Blaise sighed. “I hate not knowing things,” he grumbled. “You better wow me with this secret information, Granger.”

 

“Oh, trust me. It’ll blow your cloak off.” Hermione laughed.

 

“Okay, then,” Blaise agreed. “I’ll go and see Skeeter. What do you want me to say?”

 

“Use your creative licence.” Hermione waved her hand casually. “The important thing is that you convince her that the lead you’re generously giving her will result in some juicy dirt she can use to her advantage.”

 

“Careful, Granger,” Draco laughed. “Giving Blaise Zabini creative licence can be dangerous. You never know what web of intrigue and deception he’ll weave.”

 

“That’s precisely what I’m counting on,” Hermione said with a predatory smile that made the two men in the room recoil slightly.

 

“Remind me never to get on your bad side, Granger,” Blaise said as he stood. “When and where are you and Draco going to be?” 

 

“Outside the London Eye, four p.m.”

 

“Dragging him along to muggle tourist attractions, now? That’s too delicious for words.” Blaise picked up his cloak. “I’ll be off, then. Owl as soon as you have news. Don’t make me wait!”

 

“Thank you. Blaise.” Hermione smiled. “If this works, you won’t be disappointed.”

 

With a final wave, Blaise left, leaving Draco and Hermione alone in the sitting room.

 

“Are you going to let me in on this?” Draco asked.

 

“Let’s just say Skeeter and I have previously had a conversation about how she gets her stories and the liberal way she interprets her information,” Hermione stated. “I trust Blaise’s ability to pique her interest enough to have her follow his tip-off personally, but catching her will require the ability to appear completely oblivious while having a keen eye.”

 

“That doesn’t tell me anything!” Draco pouted.

 

“I know.” Hermione patted his cheek affectionately. “But trust me, assuming all goes according to plan, it’ll be well worth it.”

* * *

  
  


Blaise Zabini exited the main doors of  _ The Daily Prophet,  _ feeling quite pleased. If he did say so himself, his had been a masterful performance - perhaps one of his best to date.

 

_ “Miss Skeeter, how lovely to see you again. You are as exquisite as ever.” He smiled disarmingly as kissed her hand softly in greeting. “Are those new glasses?” _

 

_ “Mr Zabini. Why, they are.” Rita preened at the compliment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” _

 

_ “Why, I simply wanted to visit with one of the most famous journalists of our time,” he purred. _

 

_ Rita hummed skeptically. “ _ **_Just_ ** _ visit with no particular purpose in mind?” she pressed, raising an eyebrow quizzically. _

 

_ “Well, now that you mention it, I  _ **_did_ ** _ read your article in this morning’s edition with great interest,” Baise admitted. “Who was it that took those delightfully incriminating photos?” _

 

_ “You know I can’t reveal my sources, Mr Zabini,” Rita countered, amused. _

 

_ “No, I suppose not.” Blaise sighed. “But all the same, I found your theories very interesting. To tell you the truth, I have seen Granger and Malfoy together several times and their connection is… intriguing.” _

 

_ “Oh? What have you noticed?” Rita asked, sitting down at her desk and smiling in an encouraging way. Blaise noticed the subtle movement of her quick-quotes quill poised behind her elbow, but pretended to have seen nothing. _

 

_ “Well, I’m not sure how much I can say… Malfoy  _ **_is_ ** _ still a friend, after all,” Blaise hedged. _

 

_ “As a friend, are you… concerned?” Rita pressed. _

 

_ “Well—” _

 

_ “You can tell me, Mr Zabini,” Rita said softly. _

 

_ “His relationship with Granger is so uncharacteristic of him,” Blaise blurted out, as if he had been holding back these thoughts. “They never got along in school - were at each other’s throats, in fact. They  _ **_hated_ ** _ each other.” _

 

_ Rita nodded sympathetically. “Yes, I do recall there was quite a strong rivalry between the two. Why do you think Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger have suddenly taken such an interest in each other?” _

 

_ Blaise rubbed a hand over his head nervously. “This could be all speculation, but—” _

 

_ “Yes? Go on, Mr Zabini. You’re safe here,” Rita prompted. _

 

_ “Well, you suggested in the article that Granger was under an imperius.” Rita nodded. “But it got me thinking. Granger was always fantastic at spells, despite being a muggle-born. She is a powerful witch. I just don’t see her being of the type to easily be controlled.” _

 

_ “Hmmm,” Rita hummed, her eyes sparking with interest. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mr Zabini?” _

 

_ “Maybe— maybe Granger isn’t being imperiused,” Blaise finished hesitantly. _

 

_ “Ahh! So you think perhaps Miss Granger has Mr Malfoy under the imperius curse?” Rita speculated. _

 

_ “Not necessarily.” Blaise shrugged. “I just don’t see Granger as being under any type of control.” _

 

_ “But  _ **_why_ ** _ would she have him under control?” Rita mused to herself, seeming to completely ignore Blaise’s last comment. “What do they do together? Do you know?” The witch turned back to Blaise with an encouraging smile. _

 

_ “That’s the other odd thing.” Blaise frowned. “Draco has always been very traditional, as would be expected of someone belonging to such an ancient house. He never had any time, nor any interest, for non-wizarding things. And yet, lately—” The wizard paused, as if thinking. _

 

_ “And yet…?” Rita echoed, leaning forward with anticipation, sensing a juicy piece of information. _

 

_ “Lately, he has accompanied Granger to a number of muggle places,” Blaise continued. “It’s not like Draco at all. And, although he’s still wealthy and has never balked at spending frivolously, he’s throwing galleons around as it was going out of fashion.” _

 

_ “Hmmm… uncharacteristically going to muggle places with a muggle-born, and spending more than usual—” Blaise could hear Rita’s quick-quotes quill was scribbling madly behind her as she theorised “—is the down-and-out former war heroine seeking reparations of her own?” Looking up at him again, she asked, “What types of muggle places?” _

 

_ “Art galleries—I think he bought her a rare and expensive painting at one of them—the theatre, restaurants, shopping centres, and the like.” Blaise paused. “I think they’re travelling on the London Eye later this afternoon. Have you heard of it?” _

 

_ “Can’t say that I have,” Rita sniffed disinterestedly.  _

 

_ “It’s a muggle attraction. A giant spinning wheel with capsules you can ride on. You can see for miles around at its highest point. I’m told it’s very… romantic.” Blaise grimaced, as if the idea of romance was unpleasant. _

 

_ “Romantic, you say?” Rita echoed, paying attention all of a sudden. “And why would they travel on this romantic muggle contraption?” _

 

_ “No idea.” Blaise waved his hand dismissively. “Although,” he added a moment later, as if he had had an afterthought, “I saw Draco just yesterday, and there was a small velvet box sitting on the desk in his study. He whisked it away quickly when I came into the room.” _

 

_ “Intriguing!” Rita exclaimed. “A velvet box?” She looked at him shrewdly. “And where did you say this muggle attraction is, exactly?” _

 

_ “I didn’t.” Blaise grinned charmingly. “It’s in Lambeth. You really should go and check it out sometime.”  _

 

_ He made a show of looking at his watch. “Oh dear, is that the time? I’ve been sitting here chatting as if I have all the time in the world.” He stood, gathering his cloak around him. “It’s been lovely to see you, Miss Skeeter.” Blaise gave a small bow. _

 

_ “And you, Mr Zabini. We’ve had such an… enlightening chat.” Rita smiled like the kneazle that had got the cream. _

 

_ Blaise moved to the doorway, then paused. Turning to face the witch again, he spoke hesitantly. “You’ll keep this chat strictly confidential, won’t you?” _

 

_ “My lips are sealed.” Rita made a zipping gesture across her mouth. “No one will know we had a conversation.” _

 

_ “Thanks, love.” Blaise flashed her his most winning smile, blew her a kiss, and left the room. _

 

_ Mission accomplished. _

 

* * *

 

Hermione and Draco arrived on the east bank of the Thames and made their way through the throng of people.

 

“Where are we going, exactly?” Draco asked curiously.

 

“Right there.” Hermione pointed ahead to the imposing sight of the London Eye, towering above the crowds.

 

“And what are we going to do once we get to it?” he added with some apprehension.

 

“Ride it, of course.” Hermione indicted the capsules attached to the wheel. “We enter one of the capsules and it will take us around in a full revolution.”

 

Draco paled slightly at the thought. “So we’ll be… suspended in one of those things above the ground?”

 

Hermione nodded. “Correct.”

 

“Is it safe?” he checked.

 

Hermione laughed. “Of course. It’s just as safe as riding a broom. Safer even, because you’re enclosed in the capsule, which is securely attached to the side of the wheel.”

 

“Well, if you’re sure…” murmured Draco doubtfully.

 

“I’m sure.” Hermione smiled, checking her watch before taking his hand. “It’s still a little early. Let’s mill around in the crowd in front of the ride for a bit.”

 

They wandered casually over to the pier, taking in the sights and sounds. Draco was impressed and slightly unnerved at how big the structure was up close. 

 

“How long has this thing been going?” he asked, silently questioning his sanity at agreeing to confine himself within this strange contraption.

 

Hermione brightened. “Oh, it’s a fascinating history!” she enthused. “It actually only opened to the public two years ago and offers the highest viewing point in London! It’s one hundred and thirty metres tall. The designers were a husband and wife who were the directors of an architectural business, and this is just one of their most notable projects.”

 

“How do muggles build such large structures without magic?” Draco asked Hermione quietly, conscious of the muggles pressed in all around them.

 

“With machinery, tools, careful planning and a great deal of time and effort,” Hermione explained. “While it isn’t the most economical or efficient method compared to using magic, it’s a wondrous thing to watch a structure slowly grow and take shape from the ground up.”

 

Looking around, Hermione spotted a small row of pop-up shop vendors. “Let’s go and have a look at the stalls,” she suggested, and Draco went along readily enough. 

 

He spotted two food carts, a shooting gallery and a souvenir stand, the latter of which he eyed with interest. The seller had a range of models displayed that depicted the London Eye and several other popular local tourist attractions, including Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, as well as snow globes, clothing and other memorabilia.

 

“I’d quite like one of these for my office,” he mused thoughtfully. 

 

“Which do you like?” Hermione asked, smiling.

 

The stall holder, sensing Draco was not a local, began his seller’s patter in a strong London accent. “Good aft’noon, sir! We ‘ave a range of very beau’iful figurines, today only at a discounted price! Usually I’m askin’ nine pounds for the medium-sized models an’ four’een for the larger, but for you, sir, I am ‘appy to offer the larger models for eleven pounds only an’ the medium for seven pounds!” Pausing to gauge Draco’s reaction, the seller continued, “I see you are a discerning collector, sir, an’ in recognition I am able t‘offer an additional deal for you, today only - any two models you see ‘ere, for only twen’y pounds! That is your savin’ and my loss!”

 

Draco appraised the seller before turning his eye back to the goods on display. Picking up one of the snow globes, which featured Big Ben, he examined it closely, turning it this way and that. He let out an amused huff as the movement caused the flakes inside to swirl about.

 

“I like this,” he announced. “I’ll take it, and this as well.” He pointed to a model of the Eye.

 

“Brilliant choice, sir!” The seller enthused, quickly scooping up boxes holding the figurines which matched the display models and placing them in a bag. “That’ll be twenty pounds, thanks mate.”

 

Draco handed over the money and thanked the man before allowing Hermione to guide him back toward the Eye. 

 

When they were out of earshot, Hermione giggled and said, “You know you just got rooked, right?”

 

“What do you mean?” Draco frowned.

 

“Well, you can buy those same models in any discount shop for about a third of what you paid for them, if you know where to go,” she explained, amused. “These sellers count on tourists’ unfamiliarity with the city, setting up at popular spots and convincing them that the special deal is being made just for them and they’re getting a bargain, in order to encourage them to buy more. In reality, the prices he charged you are probably what he charges everyone. I can guarantee he has never charged anyone fourteen pounds for a ‘large sized model.’”

 

Draco grinned sheepishly. “You’re probably right. But nevertheless, I  _ do _ like these—” he held up the bag containing his purchases “—and I do intend to display them on my desk - assuming I survive this ride - as a reminder of our outing.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” She giggled. “Now, come on - let’s go and wait for a capsule. We just need to get tickets from the booth.”

 

Hermione reached into her beaded bag for her purse, but Draco stopped her. “Allow me,” he offered gallantly, taking his wallet from his trouser pocket.

 

Hermione huffed in annoyance. “I  _ can _ pay my own way, you know.”

 

“I  _ do _ know,” Draco argued as he passed two notes to the booth operator, “but my  _ patriarchal _ upbringing says it’s the polite thing to do when escorting a lady, even if one is escorting the lady onto something from which one could conceivably plummet to one’s death.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted, but acquiesced as Draco passed her a ticket. 

 

“You’re lucky I enjoy your company, ferret,” she growled.

 

Laughing, they joined the small crowd of people waiting to board. After a few minutes, one of the capsules reached the ground and the people inside streamed out. The crowd waiting pushed forward, but Hermione held Draco’s arm to halt his movement. 

 

“That one will be crowded,” she murmured. “The next one will stop in a few minutes, let’s wait for that.”

 

Draco nodded. “Want one with more… privacy?” he hummed cheekily, nuzzling her neck.

 

“Get away, you!” Hermione swatted at him playfully. “But yes, in a way. I  _ would _ prefer one with less people crammed into it.”

 

When the next capsule stopped and had emptied, Hermione stepped quickly into it, followed by Draco and several other tourists. The wheel gave a jerk as motion resumed and Draco grabbed nervously at the rail running around the inside of the enclosed space.

 

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him with a smile as they rose into the air. 

 

The capsule ascended slowly, stopping every few minutes to let people below on and off, and as they moved higher Draco let out a small hum of wonderment.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked him quietly, and he nodded in response. 

 

“I never realised how big London truly is,” Draco observed as they continued to climb. 

 

“Come across to the other side,” Hermione invited. “You can see Westminster Abbey from here.”

 

Draco followed Hermione to the opposite end of the capsule and listened as she outlined the construction and history of the famous church. Midway through her speech, he was distracted by what appeared to be a small flying insect hovering over his head, and swatted at it impatiently. 

 

Hermione seemed not to notice, continuing, “—over three thousand notable persons in British history are buried there, including sixteen members of the monarchy and eight prime ministers, as well as actors, scientists, poets and military leaders. It is sometimes referred to as ‘Britain's Valhalla’ - are you familiar with Norse Mythology?” Draco nodded. Hermione appeared about to continue, but suddenly clapped a hand over his shoulder, causing him to jump. 

 

“ _ Confundo,”  _ she whispered, before reaching into her bag while the hand that had been on his shoulder curled into a fist. The few other occupants of the capsule shuddered before turning to stare vacantly out of the windows, suddenly oblivious to Draco and Hermione’s presence, as the hand that had delved into her bag withdrew a small glass jar. Hermione magically unscrewed the cap and pushed something out of her closed fist and through the top, then quickly re-capped it and dropped the jar back into her bag.

 

“What was that?” Draco asked, confusion and interest writ all over his face.

 

“Oh, I just saw an interesting specimen I’d like to study,” Hermione replied with a strange smile.

 

“And you… routinely keep specimen jars in your bag, just on the off chance you should happen to come across an interesting subject?” Draco queried skeptically. “How do you fit a jar in such a small bag, anyway?”

 

“Undetectable extension charm.” She shrugged. “I’ve been using this bag since sixth year.” 

 

Draco raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Hermione waved her hand, undoing the confundus charm. The other occupants blinked and shook themselves as the capsule began its final descent toward the ground.

 

When the capsule stopped and opened its doors, Hermione stepped quickly over the threshold and onto the pavement, Draco trailing behind. He knew he had missed something, but  _ what _ ? He hadn’t seen any sign of Skeeter at all, and he had been keeping a close eye out for any hint of her presence.

 

“I think I feel like a cup of tea,” Hermione suggested. “Will we go back to the manor?”

 

“But we haven’t seen Skeeter anywhere,” Draco argued. “I thought that was the whole reason we came, so she would turn up looking for a story.” 

 

“It was, and she most certainly did show up,” Hermione giggled. “Let’s get back so I can owl Blaise, he’ll be dying to know what happened.”

 

Grumbling at still being none the wiser as to what was happening, Draco led Hermione to the nearest apparition point and whisked them back to the manor.

* * *

 

“Granger, you wonderful creature! Did my diabolical web of intrigue catch a little fly in the net?” Blaise sang as he swept into the sitting room where Hermione and Draco were waiting.

 

“That’s a surprisingly apt choice of words, Blaise.” Hermione grinned wolfishly as the dark-skinned wizard flung himself down in an armchair.

 

Reaching into her bag, Hermione withdrew the jar she had stowed earlier and placed it on the table with a flourish. The two men peered in. “It’s a beetle,” Blaise observed, disappointment in his voice. 

 

“I’ve crushed thousands just like this one during potions classes,” added Draco. “So what’s so special about this specimen?”

 

Hermione eyed them shrewdly. “Do you remember in fourth year, when Skeeter was covering the Triwizard Tournament?” Both wizards nodded. “Do you also remember she seemed to have quite the uncanny ability to dig out all kinds of information while appearing to be nowhere in sight?”

 

“Yes, I remember.” Draco furrowed his brow. “We used to laugh in the Slytherin common room about all the gossip she seemed to pick up from around the castle.”

 

“You would, you prat,” Hermione sniped good-naturedly before continuing. “I made it my mission to find out exactly  _ how _ she was getting access to all her dirt, much of which seemed to come from private conversations which were no business of hers. I started to notice an invasion of small insects around the castle - or rather,  _ one _ insect that seemed to persistently appear wherever the action seemed to be.”

 

“An insect, you say?” murmured Blaise, eyeing the jar with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

 

“Granger—Hermione—Do you mean to say…?” Draco asked, amusement creeping into his voice as the same understanding dawned on him. “Is that…?”

 

“ _ Rita Skeeter?” _ Blaise finished.

 

“Yes.” Hermione replied triumphantly. “Skeeter is an unregistered animagus. Her beetle form allows her to creep undetected into any environment. No information is safe when she’s around, because who would take notice of a beetle crawling about?”

 

She tapped on the glass and the beetle buzzed angrily against the side. “The only other people who know are Harry and Ron. After the Triwizard Tournament debacle, I held her to ransom and made her promise to keep her quill to herself for a year, otherwise I’d rat her out to the Ministry.”

 

“Why, you snake.” Blaise laughed admiringly. “I think you would have been much better placed in Slytherin.” 

 

“Even if the hat had considered putting a muggle-born into the snake-pit, I would have declined,” Hermione sniffed, causing Blaise to snigger.

 

“So what are we going to do with her now?” Draco asked, picking up the jar so he could examine the beetle within more closely. “Hey, look!” he observed with amusement. “She has little markings around her eyes, just like her glasses when she’s in human form.”

 

He passed the jar to Blaise, who smirked as he held the jar up to his face. “Why, hello, Miss Skeeter,” he purred. “Are those new glasses?” 

 

The beetle threw itself against the wall of the jar, wings fluttering madly.

 

“I think she’s upset with me.” Blaise sighed, pretending to pout.

 

“Would she not just transform and escape?” Draco asked, watching as Rita in her animagus form raged within her glass prison.

 

“Unbreakable charm.” Hermione grinned. “She’s good and stuck.” Turning to Blaise, she added, “You must have done a wonderful job convincing her. What did you say?”

 

“Oh, I was brilliant!” Blaise bragged, placing the jar back on the table. “I whirled in like the star I am, and charmed her right from the outset with a well-placed compliment…”

 

Minutes later, Draco and Hermione were both laughing uproariously at Blaise’s dramatic retelling of his conversation with Rita.

 

“And then,” Blaise guffawed, “I paused at the door, turned around, and said—” he had to stop momentarily to control his mirth “—I said,  _ ‘you’ll keep this chat strictly confidential, won’t you?’ _ ”

 

Renewed howls filled the room, so much so that Pria appeared with a worried frown on her face. “Is the Master and Miss and Mister quite alright? Yous is not under a tickling hex?” she asked.

 

“No… no, Pria, we’re fine, thank you.” Draco snorted. “Blaise is just telling a very—” he sniggered “—amusing story.”

 

“Well.. if you is sure…” the elf answered doubtfully.

 

“We really are fine, Pria.” Hermione smiled reassuringly, wiping her streaming eyes and hiccuping as she tried to bring herself under control.

 

With a nod, Pria disappeared once again.

 

“Blaise, you’re a menace.” Hermione laughed. “You played your part brilliantly. Thank you.”

 

“So what are we going to do with her?” Draco inquired, looking in at the beetle, who was now crawling dejectedly around the bottom of the jar.

 

“I’m going to let her stew for a day or so,” Hermione stated. “And then—” she picked up the jar and glared into it “—she is going to publish a  _ full redaction _ of her earlier insinuations. She will declare no one is under any type of curse or leaning toward the dark, acknowledge Malfoy is reformed and has paid for his part in the second war, and  _ apologise _ for publishing such nonsense.”

 

The beetle buzzed in irritation before turning and presenting its back to Hermione in defeat.

* * *

 

**_November 6th_ **

 

Hermione left the Ministry, glad to be going home for the day.

 

Since Rita’s odious initial article had been published, she had faced a multitude of comments and questions, from concerned co-workers and friends to complete strangers on the street.

 

The comments and criticisms from strangers had been the most frustrating part of the whole incident. Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of the reactions she had received in fourth year after Skeeter had printed her last smear pieces, and she had quickly resorted to borrowing Harry’s invisibility cloak for occasions when she had to go out in public, so as to avoid scrutiny.

 

She had had a spectacular argument with Ron over it, despite the fact Draco had saved him from a killing curse not long ago.

 

_ “How can you trust him, ‘Mione? What in Godric’s name were you thinking?” Ron lectured her. “That ferret is always up to no good, no matter how often he says he’s reformed!” _

 

_ “For goodness sake, Ron!” she retorted exasperatedly. “He  _ **_saved_ ** _ you, and who knows how many others, when your mission to catch Yaxley went tits-up! If that’s not enough of an action to warrant earning your trust, what is?” _

 

_ “That’s— that’s different!” Ron spluttered. _

 

_ “HOW?  _ **_How_ ** _ is it different, Ron? Tell me, because I would really like to know!” _

 

_ “I don’t know, okay?” Ron admitted angrily. “I just don’t like it!” _

 

_ “You don’t have to like it!” Hermione argued. “But I expect you to respect me enough to trust in my choices. I can look after myself!” _

 

At that point Harry and Ginny had intervened, which was probably a good thing as Hermione was about ready to start throwing hexes. She still couldn’t quite beat Ginny’s skill and aim, but regardless her wrath was something to behold.  _ At least I have a mean right hook, _ she had thought to herself afterwards.

 

Harry and Ginny had been more accepting, though both were still somewhat dubious; while the rest of the Weasleys reacted in a range of ways, from gentle concern (Molly) to indifference (Percy) to outright mirth (George). 

 

In fact, the latter had promptly offered her a batch of a new topical potion he had been tinkering with that was guaranteed to effectively de-flea all manner of rodents, while dyeing their fur a most fetching shade of lavender. Hermione, unsurprisingly, had demurred.

 

Hermione's most unlikely ally amongst the furore had been Kingsley Shacklebolt. The imposing Minister for Magic had dealt with Draco regularly over the last few years, primarily in his capacity as a curse breaker, and had come to have a quiet respect for the reclusive blond wizard.

 

When she had released Rita Skeeter after a two day stint in the jar, the journalist had been made to sit down in front of Hermione and draft the follow-up article under close supervision.

 

This had thrown Rita into even more of a rage, and she had completed the piece with a very bad grace, having no choice but to comply. Once the article had been written to Hermione’s satisfaction, she had cast a series of charms over the parchment to prevent it being edited or destroyed before she would allow Rita to send it to her editor for publication. The unregistered animagus had been so incensed by this time, her normally immaculate blonde curls had morphed into a fuzzy halo from the magic sparking off her.

 

Now that the second article had been published, things were starting to calm down, for which Hermione was grateful. She had not seen Draco since they had caught Rita, wanting to avoid exacerbating what was already a controversial issue and avoid further gossip. Both valued their privacy and could not stand intrusion, so the decision to keep a safe distance until they were forgotten about had been one they readily agreed upon.

 

Walking briskly down the street, Hermione headed to a cafe she liked to frequent, hoping for a nice chai latte after a tiring day. She sighed as she pushed open the door and stepped through. She was really quite sick of politics and Ministry business, but she wasn’t sure how to move into another field. While she had a decent sum still put aside from the Order of Merlin award she had received for her part in the war effort, it wasn’t enough that she could live off it forever.

 

Reaching the front of the line, Hermione ordered her drink and stood aside to wait, still musing over her current situation. She supposed she  _ could _ take some time off, perhaps travel, but she would become bored if she spent too long without doing something productive.

 

“Her… my-knee?” called the barista, and she stepped forward to take her drink before exiting the cafe and heading down the street toward home. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear footsteps coming up behind her, and jumped when a mocking voice spoke up behind her shoulder.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the  _ golden girl.” _

 

Hermione whirled around and came face to face with Pansy Parkinson. The woman was still pug-nosed, and still wore the same unpleasant sneer on her lips, but had otherwise grown into her figure and features. Rather than looking gangly, Pansy now looked coldly beautiful.

 

Hermione sighed. “What could you  _ possibly _ want, Parkinson? I don’t have time for your crap today.”

 

“What could I want?” Pansy laughed cruelly. “Well, for a start, I want you to get your gold-digging hooks out of my finance.”

 

“I  _ beg _ your pardon?” Hermione exclaimed in astonishment. 

 

“Stay  _ away _ from Draco,” the former Slytherin clarified. “I bet you don’t even  _ like  _ him. You’re only after his galleons.”

 

“I’m not seeing Draco for his  _ money! _ I couldn’t care less about that! And—” she shook her head, thinking she surely must have misheard “— _ your fiance?  _ Are you quite mad?”

 

Pansy stepped forward and poked Hermione rudely in the chest. “Draco is  _ mine.  _ We’ve been betrothed since we were children. We’ve just been… estranged. But now, we’ve patched things up and he has no need of you any more.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “And why else would you be with him, if not for his money? You always hated him in school, what makes you think anyone would believe you would be with him for any other reason?”

 

“What in the  _ hell _ are you on about?” Hermione hissed, outraged. “How  _ dare _ you! Draco is not engaged! He’d have told me if he was! He’d never have pursued me!! He…” She trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

 

Pansy smirked. “Not so sure now, are you, Granger?” She laughed bitterly. “No, you were just a distraction to him. He always had a secret thing for you. Part of him just  _ itched _ to debase himself by putting his pureblood cock in your mudblood pussy, just to see what you’re like.”

 

“I—we—” Hermione stammered. Her mind was racing and her stomach was churning. Surely, surely, this wasn’t true? It  _ couldn’t _ be true. Draco would have told her if he was tied to another. He wouldn’t have led her on…  _ would _ he?

 

“Well, I must be going now.” Pansy shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you to stay away from my man. See ya, Granger.” Pany smirked spitefully then turned and walked off, waving casually over her shoulder.

 

Hermione stood mutely in the street, tears welling in her eyes. She thought she might vomit. Her latte tumbled, forgotten, from her hand to splash across the pavement and her shoes.

* * *

 

“Mr Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Minerva McGonagall greeted her former student as he stepped through her floo, brushing soot from his robes.

 

“Good afternoon, Headmistress.” Draco smiled, taking her offered hand and shaking it lightly. “Thank you for being so accommodating at such short notice.”

 

“I was most intrigued by your owl,” Minerva admitted. “He is a handsome creature, by the way.”

 

Laughing, Draco replied, “It’s funny. Aeneas manages to charm most people, despite being a dreadful snob. I think Hermione has tamed the beast within. He used to be quite a nuisance.” Pausing, he remembered Hermione’s first encounter with the eagle owl. “Do you know, the first time Hermione met him, he actually hit her with his wing when she didn’t bring him a treat quickly enough for his liking?”

 

Minerva frowned disapprovingly. “How terribly rude.” Indicating the chair in front of her desk, she bade him sit before offering him tea.

 

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Draco agreed gratefully. 

 

Minerva called for an elf, and moments later a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches was placed before them.

 

“Now, what can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?” Minerva asked once they held their cups in hand.

 

Draco took a sip of his tea before replying. “Well, I’m here on behalf of Hermione, although she doesn’t know it.”

 

Minerva simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

 

“Some time ago, before we properly got to know each other, she mentioned that what she would really love to do is teach.” Minerva nodded, smiling slightly. “I encouraged her to make contact with you and inquire about any positions you may have coming up in the future, but she was uncomfortable approaching you directly. I got the feeling she thought she might be imposing if she were to ask.”

 

“So you’re here to ask about teaching positions in her stead?” Minerva observed, eyeing Draco closely.

 

“Well, yes. It would make her happy to come back to Hogwarts. Despite the trials she faced during our school years, she has  lot of good memories of this place. Also—” Draco chuckled “—I think she misses the library.”

 

Minerva hummed approvingly. “It  _ is _ quite a wonderful library,” the older witch admitted. 

 

“If I may interject?” asked a soft voice behind the desk, and both Draco and Minerva turned to observe the portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiling down at them. 

 

Minerva nodded, indicating the old wizard should continue.

 

“It’s well past time Professor Binns retired,” Dumbledore stated, his eyes twinkling. “Miss Granger always was proficient in all her subjects, but as I recall she was particularly skilled in both charms and history. I think she would make a fine addition to the faculty, should you be able to convince Cuthbert to retire properly.”

 

“You may be right, Albus,” Minerva mused. “But do you think Cuthbert would be willing to step down?”

 

A long-suffering sigh drew the attention of the small group to the portrait of Severus Snape. “A ghost teaching lessons is a ridiculous notion and always has been, Minerva,” he intoned in his snide drawl. Turning to Dumbledore, he added, “I simply can’t understand why you tolerated this for so many years, Albus. The students had little regard for him and I’m quite certain the only person who ever actually learned anything in his classes was little miss know-it-all.” 

 

“Now, now, Severus.” Dumbledore smiled. “Cuthbert is still a perfectly adequate teacher.” Snape snorted in disagreement. “And besides, as I recall, Miss Evans was one of the few students other than Miss Granger who took enjoyment from his classes.”

 

Draco didn’t miss the momentary show of emotion that flitted across Snape’s face at the mention of Lily.

 

“The teaching year has just started.” Minerva frowned. “It could be disruptive to change teachers midway through the term, and would put quite a bit of pressure on Miss Granger to adapt quickly.”

 

“Miss Granger was always disturbingly adept at adjusting quickly and rising to a challenge,” Snape admitted grudgingly. “I have no doubt she would bring her insufferable quest to be the best at everything to the table and throw herself into the role with gusto and competence.”

 

Draco wasn’t quite sure how to take this backhanded compliment from his former head of house, but wisely chose to stay silent and allow the past and present school heads to discuss the possibility of replacing Binns.

 

“Perhaps the changes could be made following the Christmas break?” Dumbledore suggested gently. “It would give Cuthbert time to put together all his lesson plans and prepare Miss Granger for the role, and the students would have time to accept a new professor.”

 

“Very well.” Minerva nodded. Summoning a house elf once again, she requested an audience with Professor Binns.

 

After a few minutes, the ghost floated up through the floor. “You wished to see me, Headmistress?”

 

“Yes, Cuthbert,” Minerva replied briskly. “Tell me, do you recall Miss Granger?”

 

The mournful spectre looked up in interest. “Of course. She is one of the few students who never fell asleep in my class.”

 

“And would you agree she was particularly knowledgeable in your subject?”

 

Binns nodded. “Yes, she had quite an affinity for remembering facts and information. She very rarely showed an interest in silly legends and myths.”

 

Minerva smiled. “Do you see yourself continuing to teach History of Magic?’

 

Binns considered the question. “Well, I confess I’ve never really thought about it,” he replied. “I’ve just continued as I always have.”

 

“It’s time for you to retire, Cuthbert. Enough with this foolishness!” Snape interrupted snidely from his portrait.

 

“Severus, that’s not polite,” Dumbledore admonished. 

 

“You… want me to retire?” Binns said slowly, looking around the room. He suddenly seemed to notice Draco, and squinted at him. “You are… young Master Malfoy. What are you doing here? Are you to be my replacement?” He eyed the blond wizard suspiciously.

 

“No, Cuthbert, Mister Malfoy is not here for any teaching position,” Minerva interjected. “We do not wish to push you out, but we did think you may like to eventually pass the responsibility of teaching the students to another. Someone like Miss Granger.”

 

Binns sighed. “I suppose I have been teaching for too long. I think perhaps Miss Granger would make a suitable History of Magic professor, with a little bit of guidance.”

 

“It’s settled, then,” Minerva said quickly, before the ghost could change his mind. “We will offer the position to Miss Granger, starting after the Christmas break, and in the meantime we will entrust her initiation to you, Cuthbert.”

 

“I must say, it will be quite enjoyable to have Miss Granger about the castle again,” Dumbledore stated, pleased.

 

“Tolerable, at best,” Snape droned.

 

“Oh  _ hush, _ Severus,” Minerva huffed impatiently. Turning back to the others, she added, “I’ll owl Miss Granger in the coming weeks, once we finalise a few arrangements, and offer her the role.”

 

Draco smiled. “Thank you, Professors. I’m sure she’ll be over the moon.”

 

Standing, he thanked Minerva for the tea before excusing himself and farewelling the assembled group. Stepping through the floo, Draco smiled to himself, completely unaware of the coming storm he was about to find himself caught up in.

* * *

 

Draco stepped through the floo at Malfoy manor, still smiling, only to be greeted by a distraight Pria.

 

“M—Master Malfoy… There be...a visitor,” she whispered, twisting her tea towel anxiously and trembling.

 

“A visitor?” Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. He had not been expecting anyone. Could it be Hermione? He perked up momentarily, then stopped. No, almost certainly not. Hermione would not cause the little elf to be in such a state.

 

“Who is it, Pria?” he asked gently.

 

“Draco, darling! Is that you?” sang a voice from the sitting room, and Draco winced. That sounded like…

 

“Pansy? What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Draco bit out in astonishment as the witch entered the foyer.

 

“I’m visiting my finance, of course.” Pansy smiled in a way Draco assumed was supposed to be seductive, as she sauntered toward him. Her outfit left little to the imagination - towering heels, a tight, short skirt and low-cut blouse which showed her ample cleavage.

 

“Fi— _ what?”  _ Draco stammered. “Are you barking? We haven’t been engaged since after the war ended!”

 

“ _ Unofficially, _ we haven’t, at least. Really, we’ve just been... estranged,” Pansy murmured, using the term she had used with Hermione as she reached out to snake her arms around Draco’s neck.

 

“We aren’t  _ anything! _ ” Draco growled, pulling Pansy’s arms from about his shoulders and stepping back.

 

“That’s no way to talk to your future wife, Drakey.” Pansy pouted.

 

“Don’t you understand? We  _ have _ no future! After all the Wizengamot trials your parents declared no daughter of theirs would marry into a family name that had been so ‘irreparably shamed’! Remember? Those were your father’s exact words!”

 

“Well, yes, I suppose he did say that.” Pansy sighed. “But our parents also never officially undid the contract to unbind us. And now—” she feigned a sympathetic expression “—both your parents are dead and can’t undo anything. So, technically, the contract still stands.” The dark-haired witch smiled triumphantly. “You’re still mine, Draco Malfoy, and I intend to keep you!”

 

“Well, you can’t have me!” Draco snarled. “I’ll  _ not  _ marry you, Pansy! There must be another way out of this contract.”

 

“Good luck with that!” Pansy laughed. “You need an older blood relative to act in the stead of your parents, and it looks like you’re just plain out of those.”

 

Draco ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ll find a way. Now, will you kindly leave my house?” he demanded in clipped tones.

 

“Oh, come now,” Pansy murmured with a sultry expression. “I was hoping we could get… reacquainted.” She reached for him again, this time for his belt.

 

“No!” Draco shouted, pushing her hands away. “I don’t want you, Pansy! I have someone else.”

 

“Someone else…?” Pansy allowed her face to drop into a hurt expression momentarily, before smirking maliciously. “ _ Oh! _ You must mean  _ Granger! _ Funny you should bring her up. She and I had quite the little chat this afternoon.”

 

Draco felt his stomach plummet into his shoes. A feeling of dread spread over his entire being as he stared at Pansy. 

 

“What. Did. You. Do?” he hissed between clenched teeth.

 

“Me? Why, nothing.” Pansy affected an innocent expression, eyes wide. “I simply wanted to make sure she knew.”

 

“ _ What did you do?”  _ he roared, breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his ears. 

 

“I told her about about our betrothal.” Pansy shrugged. “I must say, Draco, she seemed quite shocked at the revelation. She even accused me of  _ lying. _ It was rather cruel of you to hide it from her and lead her down the garden path like that.” She paused, bringing a finger to her lip thoughtfully. “I  _ do _ believe that she actually imagined—” steely eyes met Draco’s “—that you actually  _ cared  _ for her.”

 

Draco thought he would collapse in horror and rage at what Pansy had done. “I **_DO_** care for her! _”_  he shouted. “I _love_ her!”

 

“Ooops.” Pansy bought a hand to her mouth. “Well, I guess that will make things awkward.”

 

“ _ Get. Out. _ ” Draco snarled dangerously. 

 

“No.” Pansy started daggers back.

 

“Pria!”

 

The elf appeared beside Draco, eyeing Pansy with distaste. “Yes, Master Malfoy?’

 

“Remove Miss Parkinson from the manor immediately. Ensure she cannot re-enter without prior invitation.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Pria turned to Pansy. “You is not welcome here, and you is not the Miss.” The elf snapped her fingers, and Pansy was apparated forcefully from the foyer with a shriek of outrage.

 

Draco fell to his knees, his whole body shaking. “What have I done?” he gasped.


	12. Blood magic continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovelies! Welcome to the second-to-last chapter!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: Content warning for suicidal thoughts and attempted suicide in the first half of this chapter.
> 
> If this is something that is confronting for you, please take care and if you would prefer to skip this chapter altogether but still want to know what else happens, please let me know in the comments and I can offer a summary of this one when I post the next.
> 
> Speaking of next chapters - You may have noticed I've deviated from my usual schedule and am posting this one day early.  
> I'm super stoked to announce I've completed the last chapter as well, and to celebrate completing my first WiP I plan to post it later this week!
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta CourtingInsanity - you rock!

* * *

 

**Content warning as per notes above: Suicidal thoughts/attempted suicide**

* * *

 

**_Later that evening_ **

 

Hermione slumped listlessly in her chair. Her face felt swollen from weeping and her head throbbed. Her mind ran overtime as Pansy’s cruel comments reverberated repeatedly.

 

 _“Draco is_ **_mine_ ** _… We’ve been betrothed since we were children… he doesn’t have any use for you any more… Part of him just_ **_itched_ ** _to debase himself by putting his pureblood cock in your mudblood pussy, just to see what you’re like_ …”

 

She had rushed home, confused and fraught. The emotions Pansy’s words had triggered had been powerful; so powerful Hermione was shocked by their depth. They had only been properly dating for a month - why was she so _upset_? Surely she didn’t have such strong feelings for him yet?

 

But, undeniably, she felt heartbroken. The sting of betrayal had hit deep, reaching right down to her core. She was all cried out, but her chest still occasionally hitched. She had no idea what she was going to do. Hermione knew she should confront Draco directly, seek his reassurance that Pansy’s claims were false and she had nothing to worry about, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

 

The logical part of her brain, usually so vocal and at the forefront of her thinking, had retreated into a dark corner of her mind under the onslaught of her emotions and refused to come out. Her desire to think logically was being overwhelmed by the sinking feeling that, far from being a complete fabrication, Pansy’s claims may well hold some truth.

 

 _“Come on, now, Logic. Out you come. It’s time to apply some reason to this situation,”_ she chided herself.

  
_“NO!”_ logical Hermione cried. _“What if Pansy was right? What if Emotions is the one being reasonable?”_

 

 _“That’s right,”_ agreed emotional Hermione. _“You stay right where you are, Logic. Let_ **_me_ ** _handle this.”_

 

“ _But what if Pansy_ ** _is_** _lying?”_ Hermione argued with her two mental counterparts.

 

 _“What if she isn’t?”_ retorted emotional Hermione.

 

 _“Exactly!”_ wailed logical Hermione. _“That’s not something I’m equipped to deal with!”_

 

 _“Well, we shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions! We should be attempting to stay calm and get some answers, first!”_ Hermione pointed out valiantly.

 

 _“Don’t you go listening to_ **_her,_ ** _Logic,”_ said emotional Hermione, firmly. _“This isn’t the time to go asking questions, this is the time to second guess every single moment and verbal exchange we’ve shared with him since he came back into our lives!”_

 

Logical Hermione was nodding in agreement. _“You’re absolutely right, Emotions. I’m going to leave this situation in your capable hands.”_ With that, she retreated even further into the dark corner she had wedged herself into.

 

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands. It was hopeless. She wasn’t going to be able to take a step back from the situation and look at it objectively; she was far too emotionally invested for that. She just wished she knew _how_ she had come to be so attached to Draco in such a short time. It was ridiculous. Even when she was with Ron, her feelings for him had grown slowly over years. And Viktor - the two of them had enjoyed a brief fling, but her feelings for him had never grown beyond a fondness for his company and the physical attraction they had shared.

 

Standing, she decided she would make herself a cup of tea. She wobbled and limped slightly as she made her way to the kitchen - she had been curled up in that chair for far too long, and her legs had gone to sleep. She thought about eating and her stomach roiled. No, she didn’t think she could stand food right now.

 

Placing the kettle on the hob and turning up the flame, Hermione sighed  She wished she could talk to someone, but _who_ ? Her friends, though more or less tolerant of the fact she had been dating Draco (Ron being the exception), didn’t really understand what she saw in him. Truth be told, a big part of the reason she was hesitant to confide in them was that she was worried they would look at her with that pitying expression that said, _Well, we could have said ‘I told you so’ - what did you expect from a snake like Draco Malfoy?_

 

She was just pouring hot water from the recently boiled kettle when her floo chimed, followed by the roar of flames, and Hermione jumped so much she splashed scalding water over her hand.

 

“ _FUCK!_ Fuckfuckfuck!” she hissed, dancing around in pain and shaking her hand.

 

“Hermione?” came a hesitant voice, and her heart skittered in nervous fear. Double fuck. It was Malfoy.

 

He came slowly into the kitchen, eyeing her carefully as if she might jinx him. She considered it, then decided she was too busy trying to keep her stomach from jumping up and clogging her throat shut to be capable.

 

Draco then seemed to spy her hand. “What did you do to yourself?” he asked, concern in his grey eyes. Stepping forward, he reached for her, but Hermione flinched back. She didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across his features at her reaction.

 

“Your hand… you need to put something on that,” he pointed out lamely.

 

Glancing down, Hermione examined her hand, which was swollen and had turned an angry red. She could see blisters starting to form. Stepping back to the sink, she turned on the cold water and stuck her hand under it, sighing in relief at the cooling sensation.

 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, frowning in confusion.

 

Hermione paused momentarily before answering quietly, “This is the muggle treatment for superficial burns. Running it under cold water slows the burning process, reducing the damage, and numbs the area which provides temporary pain relief.”

 

“And how long must you hold your hand under the water?”

 

“As long as possible.” She sighed.

 

“That seems terribly inefficient. Not to mention a waste of water,” Draco replied softly. Taking his wand in hand, he stepped forward again. “Let me take care of it.” When she recoiled again, his expression became pained. “ _Please,”_ he implored.

 

Silently, Hermione held out her injured hand, turning off the tap with the other. Draco examined the burn. “I’m not sure a healing spell will completely fix this,” he muttered. “You may need to apply a burn paste as well. Do you have any?” she nodded, and Draco waved his wand over her hand. “ _Episkey.”_

 

The redness and swelling immediately began to reduce, although the blisters did not fade away completely.

 

Draco sighed. “Pansy came around this afternoon and said…”

 

Hermione, remembering with a painful jolt the reason she had been in such a state all afternoon, stepped away from him once more.

 

“ _Pansy?”_ she hissed. “So it’s true? You’re with _her?”_

 

“No! No. I’m not _with_ Pansy!” Draco replied hurriedly, his hands held out placatingly.

 

“So you’re not betrothed to her? She was lying?” Hermione’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as her hopes began to climb.

 

“Well…” Draco looked down at his hands in shame and discomfort, and the bloom of hope that had been growing inside Hermione violently exploded.

 

She turned quickly to the sink, sure she was about to power chuck everywhere. Thankfully, the sensation passed after a few moments, although she could feel Draco hovering uncertainty over her shoulder.

 

“Hermione—I—if I could just _explain_ —” he stammered desperately.

 

“Explain? _Explain?”_ she screeched. “What could there possibly be to explain? You’re _betrothed_ to someone else. You have been this _whole time!”_ Her tears began to flow for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, and she was distantly bemused that her body was capable of producing any more fluid.

 

“Did it never occur to you when you were pursuing me,” she bit out as she struggled to keep herself under control, “to mention that you were destined to marry someone else?”

 

“That’s—I—” Draco stuttered, but Hermione kept going, talking over him.

 

“How could you possibly enter into a relationship with me, knowing _full well_ it would go nowhere? Did you honestly think—” her eyes widened in horror as a truly awful thought, unbidden, jumped into her mind. “Surely—were you just setting me up to be your _mistress?”_

 

She turned toward the sink again, sure that this time she really _was_ about to vomit, and actually dry-retched before she managed to get her stomach under control. Turning the cold tap on again, she splashed water on her face, trying to banish the heat on her cheeks.

 

“Hermione, _please_ believe me,” Draco begged. “No, I wasn’t setting you up to be my mistress. I didn’t intend to hide this from you—I thought this whole arrangement was in the past!”

 

“In the past?” Hermione scoffed. “Betrothals don’t just fade away on their own, Malfoy.”

 

“Her father declared he wouldn’t allow her to marry into a family that had been so shamed. He said it after the Wizengamot trials!” Draco tried vainly to explain.

 

“Was the arrangement ever officially called off?” Hermione demanded.

 

Draco thought back to Pansy’s mocking words earlier that afternoon. _“...our parents also never officially undid the contract to unbind us. And now both your parents are dead and can’t undo anything.”_  

 

“No.” he admitted, hanging his head in defeat.

 

“Then,” Hermione said, sniffing sadly, “I guess we have nothing more to say to each other.”

 

“Hermione… _please…_ ” Draco begged.

 

“Goodbye, Malfoy,” Hermione said with finality, turning her back on him. Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold back the tsunami of emotion that threatened to overflow.

 

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered. She heard him turn, heard his footsteps fade away, heard the roar of the floo as he left.

 

Unable to hold back any longer, Hermione dropped to the floor and wailed in abject despair.

* * *

  


Draco stepped back into the foyer of Malfoy manor and ran to his study. Frantically digging through his liquor cabinet, he came up with a single bottle containing a mere third of firewhiskey. That wasn’t nearly enough. He needed _more_. He needed to forget.

 

He ran through the wing he used, tearing rooms apart, hunting for another bottle, any bottle. Finally, finding nothing, he stormed purposefully into the part of the manor his father had frequented and opened the door leading to the elder Malfoy’s study. As desperate as he was for escape, he could not bring himself to cross the threshold and physically search the room.

 

“Accio firewhiskey!” he cried, and a nearly-full bottle flew into his hand. Spinning on his heel, Draco ran back to his own study. When he arrived, he flung himself behind his desk and spun off the cap from the bottle he had taken from Lucius’ study, gulping a mouthful of the liquid.

 

He gasped as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and into his stomach, before bringing the bottle to his lips again and again. It took him some time to notice he was sobbing.

 

“Fuck, _fuck_ !” he screamed, slamming his fists down on the desktop. “Fucking Pansy, fucking contracts, fuck it _all_!”

 

“Language, _language,”_ tsked a voice, and Draco looked up. Mirror-Draco was back, wearing the customary sneer it always used when it showed up to mock him.

 

“I knew you’d screw it up sooner or later,” mirror-Draco drawled lazily. “Sweet Morgana, you can’t do _anything_ right, can you?”

 

“I was trying!” Draco screamed back. “Fucking Pansy! She had to come in and ruin _everything!”_

 

“I hardly think it’s fair to blame her,” reasoned mirror-Draco. “She was quite correct when she pointed out the contract was never officially undone. And now you’re stuck with her. _And_ you’ve lost Hermione. The one good thing you had. I knew it would happen eventually.” Mirror-Draco smirked crulley.

 

Draco didn’t answer. He drew back his arm to throw the bottle at the mirror, then realised what he was about to do and drank from it instead before aiming his wand at his monstrous reflection. “ _Bombarda!”_ he snarled, and the entire wall was blasted forcefully away, plaster and wood flying in all directions.

 

Leaning back in his chair, gasping as a physical pain bloomed in his chest and spread outwards, Draco desperately clung to the already half-empty bottle in his hands. “Who says I’m stuck with that Parkinson bitch?” he growled, contemplating as he drank.

 

Soon, he came to a decision. He stood and stumbled unsteadily out the door, tripping over the remnants of the wall on his way out, and down the hallway, heading for the stairs which would take him to the east tower.

 

Pria came running as he began his slow ascent. “Master, what is you doing?” she cried, horrified. “The wall is exploded, there be bits everywhere, you is drinking again! What has happened? Please let Pria help!”

 

“N’one c’n help me any more, Pria,” Draco slurred, taking another swig of the bottle. “He’min’e’s gone. I fucked it up. She doesn’ want me any’mre.”

 

“Miss Hermie is upset with Master?”

 

“She foun’ out abou’ the marr’ge contrac’, Pria. Is over.”

 

The elf gasped. “Master Malfoy will fix this! Miss Hermie will come back!”

 

Draco shook his head slowly. “She won’, Pria. She made tha’ qui’ clear.”

 

“Master Malfoy. Give Pria the bottle.” The little elf instructed firmly, standing in front of him to bar his way. “Pria will get you a potion and put you to bed.”

 

“ _No!_ ” Draco argued. “ _No_ Pria, I won’t. Le’mme ‘lone. Please.” Another drink. He swayed on his feet.

 

 _“Please,_ Master!” Pria tried to grab the bottle, but Draco snatched it away.

 

“I order you t’ lea’ me be!” Draco insisted.

 

“Please don’t, Master!” Pria squeaked, her eyes wide.

 

“Yes! Lea’ me be. Tha’ is an _order,_ Pria!”

 

The small elf was pushed back by the force of the magic invoked by her master’s order. Unable to do anything more to stop Draco, she was forced back as he continued his precarious journey up the stairs.

 

Eyes welling with tears, the terrified elf watched him go before abruptly disappearing from the Manor.

* * *

  


Theo was sitting in his study when he heard a pop. Glancing around, he was shocked to see a shaking and hysterical elf standing before him.

 

“ _Pria?”_ he said, frowning. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

 

“Please! _Please_ hurry, Mister Nott! There be no time to explain, it be Master! He be drunk and going toward the east tower!”

 

“ _What?”_ Theo stood quickly. “Take me, Pria.” He commanded, and the elf quickly took his sleeve and pulled him away from the Nott home and toward Malfoy Manor.

 

Arriving on the top floor, Theo sprinted toward the entrance to the tower. He remembered it well - once, he and Draco had dared each other to launch their brooms from the edge of the small balcony jutting over the ground. They had just been about to jump together when Narcissa had found them. She had had been most upset, insisting they could easily have missed their footing and plummeted to their deaths.

 

Breathing hard and with his heart feeling like it was about to explode through his chest, Theo burst through the archway leading to the balcony, seeing a shadowy figure ahead of him climbing unsteadily onto the wide stone rail.

 

“ _DRACO, NO! STOP!”_ he roared.

* * *

 

Draco had made his way to the tower. Stumbling out to the balcony, he stared listlessly out at the darkness before looking over the railing at the hard ground below. Disjointedly regarding the bottle in his hand, which now had only a splash of the liquid remaining, he dangled it over the edge before opening his hand and letting it drop. He watched, fascinated, as it tumbled end over end, seeming to fall forever, before finally striking the ground and shattering.

 

From this height, the tinkling of the glass as it exploded seemed small and unimportant. _That will be me in a few moments,_ he thought to himself. He felt a sense of peace wash over him at the thought of tumbling gently as the bottle had a moment before, and held onto the wall so he could step up onto the stone rail.

* * *

  


_“INCARCEROUS!”_ Theo bellowed. Ropes shot from his outstretched wand and bound Draco tightly. _“Accio Draco!”_ The drunken blond wizard was pulled away from the rail, his bound body plowing into Theo’s and knocking them both to the floor.

 

Pushing the blond man off him, Theo sat up. Pria came running up to them, sobbing. “Oh, Master! Why? _Why?”_ she wailed.

 

“Yes, good question. Why, Draco? What the hell’s gotten into you?” Theo’s heart sank as he realised something must have gone rather spectacularly wrong between him and Hermione. “Tell me what happened.” He released the binds, but cautiously, allowing Draco some movement.

 

Draco shook his head slowly and struggled into a sitting position, swaying gently and staring blearily at his friend. “S’no use, Theo. S’ hopeless. Wh’a I’m doin’ here? S’posed to be out there.” He gestured vaguely toward the balcony.

 

“No you bloody well aren’t!” Theo snapped, angrily. “You were climbing up on the balcony, Draco! You could have killed yourself!”

 

“Was th’idea.” Grumbled Draco. “Got t’escape Pansy.”

 

“Pansy? What does she have to do with all this?” Theo asked, confused.

 

“Con-” Suddenly, Draco gagged and vomited down himself, attempting to prop himself up on one wobbly arm. The effort of emptying his stomach seemed to drain him of his tenuous hold on consciousness and, having finished, Draco passed out and slid bonelessly to the floor.

 

Theo caught Draco as he fell, guiding his body down in such a way that he wouldn’t land in the puddle of vomit and positioning him on his side.

 

Sighing harshly, he slid a hand down over his face. “Can you clean him up and put him to bed please, Pria?”

 

The elf nodded, clicking her fingers to vanish the mess from the floor and her master’s clothes then sending him down to his room.

 

Theo stood up and made his way through the house to Draco’s chambers, accompanied by Pria. The two regarded the blond man sadly as he lay sprawled on his bed. Even with all the alcohol in his system, Draco did not rest easy, instead muttering and frowning in his sleep.

 

“Do you know what triggered this, Pria?” Theo asked the elf softly.

 

Pria sniffed. “Master came back and went to old Master’s study to search for firewhiskey. He drank and drank and exploded the wall.”

 

Theo frowned. “Went to?—You mean he went to Lucius’ study?” Pria nodded. “But he hasn’t gone to that part of the manor since Voldemort was defeated.” Pausing, he added, “What do you mean, he ‘exploded the wall?’”

 

“Master argued with the mirror again, then cast a spell. It made a dreadful mess.”

 

“Something really bad must have happened,” Theo muttered. “What else did Draco do today?”

 

“Master went to Hogwarts to see the headmistress. While he was out, there was a most unwelcome intrusion from the Parkinson Miss.”

 

“Young Parkinson...? You mean _Pansy?_ Pansy was here? _Why?”_

 

“Master came home and the Parkinson Miss insisted she and the Master must marry, because they were still betrothed.”

 

Realisation dawned, and Theo slumped. “Shit.”

 

“The Parkinson Miss told Master she told Miss Hermie about the marriage contract,” Pria added. “Master was very angry.”

 

“She _what?”_ Theo fumed. “Has Draco attempted to speak to Hermione?” He very much feared it had been bad and was part of the reason Draco had been in the state Theo had found him in.

 

Pria nodded. “Master tried. I think Miss Hermie and Master is having a most disastrous falling out.”

 

Theo shook his head. “Keep a close eye on him tonight. He probably won’t wake, but come and get me if he does. I’ll try and talk to him in the morning.”

 

“Would Mister Nott like to take one of the guest bedrooms?” Pria invited, and Theo tiredly nodded his thanks.

 

Pria wordlessly indicated Theo should follow, and let him to a room down the hall. He bid the elf goodnight before wearily getting undressed and sliding beneath the covers, his mind racing.

* * *

  


Draco slowly regained consciousness. He was in his bed, fully clothed, and… alive? That didn’t seem right.

 

Rolling to his side, he tried to open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

 

“Master?” a voice said softly.

 

“P—” Draco licked his lips, attempting to push words past his impossibly dry mouth. “Pria? Izzat you?”

 

“Yes Master. You must drink this.” Draco felt a cool liquid on his tongue. He recognized the taste of a hangover potion and swallowed slowly, then laid himself down carefully as he waited for it to take effect.

 

Half-focused images from last night swam in his pickled mind. He remembered… arguing with mirror-Draco and—had he really cast a _bombarda_ on the wall? Arguing with Pria as he made his way upstairs. Climbing unsteadily onto the balcony railing, anticipating a release from his caged thoughts and then… he covered his eyes with a shaking hand, trying to recall.

 

He had been stepping up onto the railing, yes. But then… someone had shouted and before he could react, he had been…. bound and flying backwards? Try as he might, Draco could not recall anything beyond the vague recollection of flying through the air, flying in the _opposite_ direction as he had wanted to go.

 

From there, the events of the previous day prior to the drinking came slamming back with force, so strong he gasped with the pain. Pansy appearing, triumphantly telling him about how she had confronted Hermione. Him rushing over to Hermione’s flat, asking, _begging_ her to just hear him out, _please,_ to let him explain, and being banished from her presence.

 

Rolling onto his side and clutching his pillow, Draco pressed the fabric to his face and screamed in frustration and grief. _Why_ was he alive? Who had interfered, and why hadn’t they just left him to plunge off the tower?

 

“Draco?” a hesitant voice came from his doorway.

 

He ignored it. _Of course it would be Theo,_ he thought resignedly. _Bastard’s always trying to save me from something._

 

“Draco,” Theo spoke again, this time more firmly, as he stepped into the room. “I need you to tell me in detail what happened last night. Pria mentioned Pansy and the marriage contract, but I need you to fill in the rest.”

 

Draco remained obstinately silent, turning his back on his friend.

 

“Don’t make me use legilimency, Draco. I’ll do it, you know I will,” Theo threatened.

 

Theo’s skills in legilimency were legendary, rivalling Severus Snape’s. Although Draco was accomplished in occlumency, it took a great deal of focus when it was Theo trying to see into his mind, and Draco knew that in his current state he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of keeping his friend out.

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, though he kept his back to Theo. “Pansy sought out Hermione yesterday, and told her about our old marriage contract. I don’t know exactly what she said, but knowing her it would have been unpleasant and cruel. Then she showed up here, going on as if the marriage were still going ahead. She wouldn’t leave, so I had Pria banish her.”

 

“And you tried to talk to Hermione about it, afterwards?” Theo prompted gently.

 

Draco gave a shuddering sigh. “I tried and failed. I wanted to explain, to apologise, but she didn’t want to hear it. I broke her heart, Theo.”

 

At this, the blond wizard finally rolled over to face his closest friend, his grey eyes full of sadness. “I broke her heart, and it’s killed a piece of me. I’ve lost Hermione, and I’m trapped with Pansy who has seemingly decided she wants to force this contract after all, and I’d rather just not carry on any more.”

 

“But,” Theo countered, “didn’t old man Parkinson say he didn’t want Pansy marrying into the Malfoy family after you all went through the trials before the Wizengamot?”

 

“He did.” Draco sighed. “But our families never officially undid the contract.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Theo whispered, as the implications dawned on him. “And now you need a senior family member to undo it from the Malfoy side, or the contract will stand.”

 

“Yup,” Draco agreed flatly. “Why didn’t you just let me jump, Theo?” he added accusingly.

 

“Because you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you take your own life!” Theo ground out in frustration. “We’ll find a way out of this, I swear!”

 

“You and I both know there’s no way out.” Draco sighed tiredly. “Magical law states it cannot be undone unless a senior family member from each house adds their magical signature to the unbinding, and, as Pansy so kindly pointed out, I don’t have any of those.”

 

“We’ll find a way,” Theo repeated determinedly.

 

Theo spent the rest of the morning owling anyone he could think of who was well-versed in magical contracts and the various ways of unbinding them. In between, he kept a close eye on Draco. Although he had now sobered up and was feeling few ill-effects from the alcohol he had imbibed the night before, his depression had spiraled so deeply Theo was genuinely concerned for his friend’s safety.

 

He wanted to find Pansy and wring her neck, but at the same time he did not want to leave Draco unattended. He owled Blaise instead, and asked him to find her and try and convince her to leave Draco alone, and to try and gauge whether the senior Parkinson was still adverse to the marriage or if he was somehow involved in Pansy’s sudden interest.

 

In the meantime, he read over the owls he received back, losing a little hope each time a reply was received. They all said the same thing. _With this type of contract, there is no way to undo it but to have members of both families senior to the betrothed apply their magical signatures. If a suitable person cannot be found to represent Mister Malfoy, he will be unable to wed another as he his magically bound to Miss Parkinson._

 

When Blaise returned in the afternoon, he wasn’t able to bring any better news. His conversation with Pansy had gone badly, and his conversation with Parkinson Senior was not much improved on the one before.

 

_“Why did you go and confront Granger like that?” Blaise asked._

 

_Pansy glowered. “He’s still betrothed to me! I just wanted him to remember that!”_

 

_“And simultaneously upsetting Granger and destroying his relationship had nothing at all to do with your actions?” Blaise challenged._

 

_Sniffing contemptuously, Pansy admitted, “Well, she’s only a mudblood. Who cares?”_

 

_“HE cares, Pansy, you stupid woman!” Blaise argued. “You’ve never wanted Draco before this. You’ve been quite content to travel all over the world, having numerous flings with rich wizards, until now! What changed?”_

 

 _“It’s because it’s_ **_Granger,_ ** _okay!” Pansy burst out. “I_ **_hate_ ** _her, that smug mudblood bitch thinks she’s smarter than all of us!”_

 

_“She’s certainly a shitload smarter than you,” Blaise snorted contemptuously. “But that’s not her fault.”_

 

_“Why are you defending her?” Pansy screeched in frustration. “You hated her as much as we did! You used to be a blood purist!”_

 

 _Blaise shook his head in exasperation. “You know I’m not a pureblood, right? I’m just rich. And I’m rich because my mother had a fondness for wealthy wizards who have a tendency to meet untimely deaths. Besides, I_ **_like_ ** _Granger. She’s clever, and witty, and she is one hell of a force if you cross her.”_

 

_“But—” Pansy stuttered._

 

_“You know, I never did buy into that bullshit you lot kept spouting,” Blaise said thoughtfully. “But I played the part so I could remain in the inner circle and in the know.”_

 

_“You scheming arsehole!” Pansy growled._

 

_“Look who’s talking.” Blaise smirked. He stood. “Just stay away from Draco, Pansy. And Hermione. Leave them both alone. Remember what I said earlier about Granger being a force to be reckoned with. I’ve seen her in action.”_

 

_Pansy paled slightly, but attempted to maintain her bravado. “She won’t do anything to me! She wouldn’t dare!” the witch snarled._

 

_“Whatever. I’m going.” Blaise turned, and without another word headed off to find Parkinson Senior._

* * *

 

_“Mr Zabini, what can I do for you?” the older wizard said in greeting._

 

_“I want to speak with you about the marriage contract between Pansy and Draco Malfoy,” Blaise stated, getting straight to the point._

 

_Parkinson snorted. “That old thing? I declared Pansy would never marry into that family after they were shamed at the Wizengamot trials.”_

 

_“I’m aware of that, sir. But you and Draco’s parents never officially undid the contract, did you?”_

 

_Frowning, Parkinson hummed in thought. “Now that you mention it, we didn’t. Lucius died in prison and then I put it to the back of my mind. And Narcissa died last year, didn’t she?”_

 

_“That’s correct, sir.”_

 

_“So what do you want me to do about it now?”_

 

_Blaise swallowed. “Draco has met another witch—”_

 

_“That mudblood I read about in the Prophet?” Parkinson snorted._

 

 _“She is_ **_muggleborn,_ ** _yes,” Blaise bit out. “I’m hoping to find a way to undo the contract and free him officially from his obligation to Pansy.”_

 

_“Don’t expect me to help,” Parkinson grumbled uncharitably. “I’m not going to make any effort. Not for the Malfoy boy, and certainly not for some mudblood.”_

 

_Blaise took a deep breath, resisting the strong urge to hex the bigoted old bastard._

 

_“Pansy is just as tied to this contract as Draco,” he pointed out instead. “If we can’t find a way to break it, she will not be able to wed another, either.”_

 

_Parkinson sat back in his chair, considering. “I’m not going to help. But I’ll think on the matter.”_

 

_Knowing that was the best response he was going to get, Blaise nodded and excused himself, leaving the Parkinson home and heading back to Malfoy manor so he could report to Theo._

 

Theo ran his hands through his hair in frustration as Blaise finished describing his less-than-successful meeting with the Parkinsons. “I don’t know what else to do, but we’ll keep looking. There _has_ to be something.”

 

* * *

 

**_November 9th_ **

 

Hermione’s floo chimed. She looked disinterestedly up from the couch to see Harry step through.

 

“Oh. Hey, Harry,” she greeted flatly.

 

“Hermione! Come on, Ginny’s in labour! She _needs_ you! You have to get out of this funk!”

 

Hermione had confined herself to her flat ever since her final confrontation with Draco, feeling unable to face going to work or out in public. She felt like the biggest fool in the world, thinking Malfoy genuinely cared for her when really he was promised to another and just… _just what?_ What had he been thinking? Had he ever truly cared about her? The thoughts swirled endlessly around her head with such fervour that she often felt ill.

 

Her friends had, by turns, attempted to coax her out of the safety of her flat over the past few days. After a day of attempting to deal with her heartbreak on her own, Hermione had finally caved and called for Ginny. The red-headed witch had wanted to head straight to the Manor and curse the blond wizard into oblivion, but Hermione had begged her to stay with her, instead.

 

Ginny, despite Hermione’s protestations, had told Harry, who had told Ron, Molly and the rest of the Weasleys. They had all rallied around her, and it had helped her slightly to hear their reassurances that they didn’t judge her nor consider her a fool.

 

Ron, in his usual style, had been in favour of Ginny’s original proposal but, uncharacteristically for him, had hugged Hermione and awkwardly said he would be there for her if she needed him. This had caused a flood of tears on her part, and Ron had been quite upset, thinking he had done something wrong as Hermione clung to him tightly and sobbed.

 

Now, though, Ginny needed Hermione. Harry was right, she needed to pull herself out of this funk and be there for her friends as they had been for her. She stood, and squaring her shoulders, said, “You’re right, Harry. Just let me have a quick shower and change my clothes.”

 

Hermione exited the room to carry out her ablutions, returning ten minutes later with a small bag. “I’m ready,” she told Harry. Steeling herself, she stepped through the floo with Harry right behind her.

 

* * *

  


“You’re nearly there, darling,” Molly soothed. “A few more pushes and you’ll be done.”

 

“I can’t!” Ginny wailed. She had been in active labour for over twenty hours and was exhausted.

 

“You _can_ !” Hermione encouraged, holding her friend’s hand. “You’re _strong,_ Ginny! You can do this!”

 

With a monumental effort, Ginny battled through the final contractions, pushing through each one, until finally an infant’s cries filled the small room in the maternity ward of St Mungo’s.

 

“You have a son!” The attending medi-witch beamed proudly. She quickly performed magical checks on the newborn before placing him on the exhausted but smiling Ginny and covering them both with a blanket.

 

“Congratulations, you two.” Hermione gave a wobbly smile. Feeling the dam about to burst, she quickly excused herself and exited the room.

 

Rushing quickly down the hallway, she turned a corner and then slid down the wall as the tears began to flow again.

 

Why would the sight of Ginny and Harry smiling over their newborn son cause her so much pain? _It’s not like I was ever considering babies and marriage with Malfoy,_ she thought disgustedly to herself. _I wasn’t… was I?_

 

She heard footsteps behind her and quickly wiped at her face.

 

“Hermione! Are you all right?” Harry was looking down at her with concern.

 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she croaked. “Just give me a moment to collect myself.”

 

Instead of leaving her, Harry slid down the wall alongside and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

 

“ _No!”_ she insisted vehemently. Harry just looked at her skeptically.

 

“Well… I don’t know, Harry!” She wailed. “Maybe! I’m just so confused!”

 

“I know,” Harry soothed, stroking her hair. “Did you ever try and find out more about the circumstances of this contract?”

 

Hermione shook her head mutely.

 

“Well, maybe we should.”

 

“I know enough about magical marriage contracts to know they can’t be easily broken,” Hermione sniffed. “Even if I could easily forgive him, it wouldn’t make any difference. He would still be bound to Pansy.”

 

Harry sighed, knowing Hermione was probably right. She usually was.

 

“Are you up to coming back?” he asked softly. “I’d like you to meet James.”

 

Hermione smiled softly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

 

Standing, Harry assisted Hermione to her feet and together they made their way back to the birthing room.

* * *

  


**_November 15th_ **

 

Draco wandered slowly into the sitting room, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Oh, you’re up,” Theo noted with some surprise. “How are you doing?”

 

“Have you found a way to get me out of this contract yet?” Draco asked rudely.

 

“Not yet.” Theo sighed.

 

“Then I’m doing shit, same as I have been for however many days it’s been now,” Draco snapped in response, throwing himself down angrily on the couch.

 

“You should eat something,” Theo prompted, ignoring Draco’s miserable disposition.

 

“Why?” Draco countered flatly.

 

“Because you _need_ to,” Theo insisted. “You need to keep up your energy.”

 

“Energy for _what_ , Theo?” Draco hissed. “I don’t exactly see myself venturing forth into the world any time soon.” He considered. “Seeing as you lot keep hovering over me, maybe if I can avoid food long enough I’ll die of hunger and be able to escape this shithole.”

 

Theo groaned inwardly, trying not to show his frustration.

 

The first few days after he had stopped Draco jumping from the east tower had been fraught, with his friend attempting several more times to take his life. Theo had almost put Draco under an _imperio_ at one point in an attempt to thwart his efforts.

 

After those first days, though, some of the fight had gone out of Draco and he had retreated instead to his bed, refusing to come out. The manor had been emptied of all traces of alcohol and anything else that could alter or befuddle the mind in an attempt to protect the devastated wizard from himself.

 

Only in the last few days had Draco made a slight improvement, venturing out of his room for short periods. However, he still refused to shower, eat or converse. He could be pushed to answer in short sentences, but if too much pressure was applied he would clam up and retreat back to his bed.

 

The room fell silent again as Theo went back to the paperwork he had bought with him. He was temporarily staying at the manor in order to help the elves keep an eye on Draco, and had arranged to work from home for a few weeks.

 

Suddenly an owl Theo didn’t recognise flew through the window and made a loop around the room before spotting Draco and landing beside him. Draco’s eyes slid sideways momentarily to glance at the bird hooting at him before he turned his unfocused gaze back toward the window the owl had entered from.

 

“I think you have a letter,” Theo observed blandly.

 

“So?” muttered Draco. “What could it possibly say that would be of interest to me right now?”

 

“Well, if you open and read it, that question will be answered,” Theo reasoned.

 

“Maybe later,” Draco muttered.

 

The owl, sensing Draco was not going to retrieve the letter, nipped him on the arm and hooted in annoyance.

 

“Don’t keep it waiting, Draco,” Theo prompted.

 

“You open it, Theo.” Draco half-lifted a hand in a disinterested wave. “Deal with whatever it is on my behalf.”

 

Theo sighed quietly and stood, tracing the few steps to the couch. The owl regarded him for a moment before holding out its leg for him to untie the letter. Once he had done so, it nodded its head at him then flew across the room and perched on the curtain rail, clearly awaiting a reply.

 

“Are you sure you want me to open it, Drake?” Theo checked.

 

“Go ahead.” Draco shrugged, and Theo turned back to the paper in his hand.

 

On the front, the single word ‘ _Malfoy_ ’ was written in a messy scrawl Theo faintly recognised but could not place. Breaking the seal, he scanned the note quickly before exclaiming in surprise, “It’s from Potter.”

 

“Scarhead?” Draco snorted. “Why the hell would he be writing to me?”

 

“ _Malfoy,”_ Theo read aloud.

 

_“I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I want to find out more about this contract. Maybe I can help._

_I’m not doing this for you, understand. I’m doing this for Hermione, because she’s miserable without you and I hate seeing my friend so broken._

 

_Mordred will wait for your reply._

__Harry Potter.”_ _

 

 

“What can Potty possibly do to help?” sniped Draco.

 

“I don’t know. Let’s ask him,” Theo suggested.

 

“Whatever.” Draco sighed.

 

Theo took that as an agreement and walked back to the desk, picking up a quill and piece of parchment.

 

_Potter,_

 

_This is Theo writing on behalf of Malfoy. He’s not in the state to be writing, or really talking, at the moment. But we would appreciate any additional help we can get in trying to find a way out of this cursed contract. Can you floo over? I’ll get it opened up for you._

__Theo Nott_ _

 

 

Calling the owl - Mordred, he noted - Theo gave it some owl treats and tied the reply to its leg. When this was done, it flew off into the sky.

 

“Can you open the floo for Potter?” Theo asked Draco. “I told him to come over.”

 

“I can’t be bothered,” Draco muttered obstinately.

 

“You need to alter the wards,” Theo argued. “If you won’t do it for me or for him, do it for Hermione. That’s the whole reason he’s written, remember?”

 

“Fine,” Draco grumbled. “Where’s my wand?” He looked around.

 

“Oh, that’s right,” Theo remembered. “I confiscated that the day after Pria came and fetched me.” He reached into the holster under his jacket where he had been keeping it and offered it cautiously to his friend, eyeing him closely.

 

Draco made the series of wand movements and uttered the charm that would grant Harry access, then dropped his wand beside him on the couch. “It’s done.”

 

“I hope so,” Theo quipped. “If you’ve bolloxed it up and he somehow gets stuck halfway or ends up somewhere else, you’ll have all the Weasleys after you.”

 

“Oh, goody.” Draco snorted.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later, Pria entered with Harry in tow. “Mister Harry Potter be here, Master Malfoy,” she announced timidly, regarding the bespectacled wizard with awe.

 

Harry smiled slightly to himself. He had become accustomed to the reactions he seemed to inspire in house elves.

 

“Eh,” grunted Draco.

 

Frowning at Draco’s lack of manners, Theo crossed the room and offered his hand to Harry, who shook it without hesitation.

 

“Thank you offering to try and help, Potter,” Theo acknowledged. “Draco appreciates your help too, even if he thinks he doesn’t.”

 

Harry glanced over at Draco, lying prostrate on the couch, before turning back to Theo. “Can you fill me in?” he asked.

 

“Sure. Take a seat.” Theo offered. “Pria, can you bring tea, please?”

 

Pria nodded enthusiastically. “Would Mister Harry Potter be liking any food?”

 

Harry was going to decline, but the elf looked so hopeful he felt guilty saying no. Instead, he smiled and said, “A snack would be lovely, thank you Pria.”

 

The elf beamed and excitedly exited the room as Harry sat in an armchair, with Theo taking the one beside him. He listened carefully as Theo explained Pansy’s interference, the nature of the contract and what avenues they had explored so far.

 

While they were talking, Pria had returned with the tea and a plate piled high with sandwiches and pastries, causing Harry’s eyes to widen in amazement. _I should have brought Ron with me,_ he thought to himself in mild amusement as he selected a pastry.

 

Sipping his tea, Harry thought carefully about the information Theo had given him.

 

“Does the senior relative have to be descended from the Malfoys, or can it be any blood relative?” he checked.

 

Theo furrowed his brow in thought. “I believe it can be any blood relative,” he confirmed.

 

“Well, what about Andromeda Tonks?” Harry suggested.

 

“Andromeda…?” Theo echoed.

 

“Yes, Andromeda. She’s Tonks’ mum. She took on the role of guardian to Teddy after Tonks and Remus were killed.”

 

“Teddy?” Theo asked, now thoroughly confused.

 

“Oh. I suppose you might not have known,” Harry realised. “Remus - Professor Lupin - married one of the other Order of the Phoenix members, Nymphadora Tonks. She was a metamorphmagus. They had a son, Edward, but called him Teddy for short,” he explained. “During the battle of Hogwarts they were both killed. I’m his godfather, but because Andromeda is his grandmother and because I was only seventeen when his parents died, it was agreed she would take care of him in the interim.”

 

Draco had been dozing on the couch, not really paying attention, so had missed most of the conversation. Now, however, he sat up sightly, squinting at Harry.

 

“Wait… Andromeda?” he asked.

 

“Yes.” Harry nodded. She’s your aunt, isn’t she?”

 

Slowly, Draco pulled himself upright. “She is,” he replied slowly.

 

“Andromeda…” Theo hummed. “Wait! Wasn’t she your mum’s sister? A Black?”

 

“She got disowned for marrying a muggle-born,” Draco remembered. “No one from my family has talked to her for years. When mum died, they were still estranged. I don’t remember seeing her at the funeral.”

 

“Her husband, Ted, was murdered not long before the battle.” Harry added. “He went on the run when the Ministry introduced the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, but was caught by snatchers. They killed him. After the war, Andromeda decided to take Teddy and live in the States for a few years, until things settled down. They’re still living over there.”

 

Draco, who had momentarily felt a spark of hope, slumped as he considered the situation. “But she was disowned,” he pointed out. “Even if she were to come back to help me - and I don’t see why she would, as we’ve never even met - she’s been cut from the Black family completely.”

 

“Well, maybe not,” Theo countered. “Blood magic continues even if someone has been cut off from the rest of their family. The Black line is very old, so it’s possible she may be able to act in place of your parents.”

 

“Do you think it will work?” Draco asked cautiously.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I don’t know a lot about blood magic.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “But I bet Neville’s grandmother does.”

 

“Longbottom? Wasn’t that buffoon terrified of his grandmother?” Draco scoffed.

 

“Yes, Longbottom.” Harry frowed. “Don’t call him a buffoon. He’s become a damn good wizard. And _everyone_ was terrified of Augusta. She’s a formidable woman. But, if I recall correctly, the Longbottoms are one of the sacred twenty-eight.”

 

“That’s right,” Theo nodded. “They are.”

 

“Well, Neville’s grandmother is a very powerful and intelligent witch,” Harry reasoned, “and despite her age, she commands a lot of respect and influence. If anyone would know how to get you out of this contract, it would be her.”

 

“Can you get in touch with her?” Theo checked.

 

Harry nodded. “I’ll owl her this evening and ask if she is available. Can I bring her here?” He looked at Draco for confirmation.

 

“Sure.” Draco nodded, feeling cautiously optimistic for the first time since Pansy had ruined everything with her revelation. “I’ll adjust the wards so you can floo or apparate in.”

 

Harry stood. “Right, I’d better be off. Thank Pria for the tea and food, would you? It was delicious.”

 

“She’ll be pleased to hear it,” Draco said. “She’s a good little elf. She misses Hermione. I do, too.” He looked sadly down at his hands.

 

Fidgeting awkwardly, Harry said, “Well, I’ll owl once I’ve heard from Augusta and make further arrangements.” He was almost to the door when Draco called him back.

 

“Thanks, Potter,” he acknowledged. “I doubt we would have thought of any of this without your involvement.”

 

“Like I said in my letter,” Harry replied. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for Hermione. If this works, it’ll give you one chance to fix what you broke. Don’t fuck it up.”

 

With that, Harry made his way to the foyer and floo’ed away from Malfoy manor.  


* * *

  


The following afternoon, Draco found himself facing the indomitable Augusta Longbottom.

 

Harry, true to his word, had gotten in contact with the older witch and she had agreed to meet with Draco as soon as possible. Now, she sat across from him, a teacup balanced delicately on her lap and scrutinising him closely.

 

“You were a rather unpleasant child, as I recall,” she stated bluntly. “Neville used to tell me about all the horrible things you got up to. I can’t say I’m surprised, given who your father was. Lucius always was a lowly snake and a nasty man.”

 

Draco had the decency to blush. “Well. Um. Yes,” he stammered. Merlin, she _was_ terrifying.

 

“Never mind that now. It’s in the past,” Augusta declared, waving a hand dismissively “Now. Tell me about this marriage contract.”

 

The witch listened attentively as Draco explained the problem and the possible solution Harry had come up with, nodding as he talked.

 

“And you love another?” she asked, eyeing him.

 

“I do,” Draco stated bluntly. Harry looked at him in shock.

 

“How are you surprised, Potter?” Theo interjected in repose to Harry’s expression. “It’s bloody obvious he’s head over heels for her. How the hell you managed to survive on the run from Voldemort when you’re so unobservant, I’ll never know.” He snorted.

 

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again quickly under the glare Augusta sent his way.

 

“Mister Potter seems to be the only clever one here.” She sniffed. “How neither of you thought of Andromeda immediately, I do not know. She’s the obvious choice as Mister Malfoy’s only living senior relative.”

 

Theo and Draco hung their heads, embarrassed.

 

“No matter,” The witch continued. “Andromeda will certainly be able to act as the officiating person to unbind the contract. The Black line holds very powerful magic. But,” she cautioned, “the unbinding will only work if at least one of the betrothed truly loves another, and then only if the other’s magic is destined to merge with theirs.”

 

“How will we know if Hermione’s magic is destined to merge with Malfoy’s?” Harry asked. “I can’t convince her to even talk about him, let alone see him - at least not while he’s still bound to Pansy.”

 

“She doesn’t need to be in the same room with him,” Augusta said reassuringly. “You just need a small vial of her blood. We brew a simple potion, adding her blood and Mister Malfoy’s. This test will determine their compatibility and also serve as the final key to unbind the contract.”

 

“And how will we know if it’s worked?” Draco asked.

 

Augusta looked at him pityingly. “Did your parents not teach you _anything_ about blood magic, boy?” she replied. “If your magic is destined to merge with Miss Granger’s, your blood will entwine and the potion will turn a royal purple colour.”

 

“What will happen if they _aren’t_ compatible?” Theo checked.

 

“The magic in each of their blood samples will repel the other,” Augusta explained. “If an attempt is made to force them to join, it will cause a devastating explosion.” She considered. “It’s quite dangerous.”

 

“A risk I’m willing to take,” Draco declared.

 

Augusta nodded. “Very well. I’ll go and see that old fool Parkinson. You, Mister Potter—” she looked at Harry “—contact Andromeda and explain the situation. I know she’ll be happy to help, and finally meet her nephew.”

 

She stood, her gaze sweeping over the other occupants. “Good day to you all. I shall see myself out.” The witch donned her signature hat with the vulture perched atop, placed her handbag over her arm and walked briskly from the room.

* * *

 

**_November 17th_ **

 

“Come on, Hermione. I just need one vial,” Harry begged.

 

“What’s the point? It’s ridiculous to even consider the _possibility_ that this will work,” Hermione argued.

 

Harry had come to her that morning and asked for a vial of her blood. When she had inquired as to what the reason was for his request, he had been cagey at first before finally admitting it was to see if she was compatible with Malfoy.

 

“You might as well brew a love potion for all the effectiveness it would have,” she snorted.

 

“Hermione! This is coming from Neville’s grandmother! She’s the most upfront person I know, and she’s got no tolerance for bullshit. You _know_ that!”

 

 _“Augusta_ told you about this? And you didn’t think to mention that first?” Hermione chided. “Who else is involved in this circus?”

 

“Andromeda, too,” Harry admitted.

 

Hermione huffed disgustedly. “I really don’t want the whole of Wizarding London knowing my personal business, Harry!”

 

“It’s _not_ the whole of Wizarding London!” argued Harry. “It’s just Theo, Blaise, all the Weasleys, Augusta, Andromeda, me, the people who Theo asked previously for help...”

 

“Stop, Harry!” Hermione held up her hand in annoyance.

 

“Please, Hermione?” Harry tried again. “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But they need your blood to confirm whether you and Malfoy are compatible, or the unbinding won’t work even with Andromeda acting as his senior relative.”

 

She sighed. “ _Fine._ But only because Augusta suggested it,” Hermione grumbled. Summoning a vial from her bathroom, she used her wand to make a small cut on her inner forearm and allowed the trail of blood to flow into it. Replacing the stopper, she handed it to Harry.

 

“Thanks, Hermione.” He smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to be there?”

 

She shook her head decisively. “I’d rather not be let down.” She sighed. “Knowing you’re trying is bad enough.”

 

“Okay,” Harry relented. “I’ll talk to you later.” He gave his friend a tight hug before stepping back. “For what it’s worth, I’d like to think ferret-boy’s blood will get along with yours just fine.”

 

Placing the vial carefully in his robes, Harry kissed Hermione’s cheek and stepped through the floo.

 

* * *

 

Back at Malfoy manor that evening, a small group huddled anxiously around the cauldron bubbling away on the countertop. Augusta had brewed the potion herself, and was tending to it carefully.

 

Andromeda had arrived from the States via international portkey earlier that day, having left Teddy in the care of some friends. She had had an emotional first meeting with her nephew, noting tearfully that he reminded her of Narcissa.

 

Pansy was there with her father, sulking despite the knowledge she would be free to marry whomever she wished should the unbinding be achieved.

 

“Do you have Miss Ganger’s sample, Mister Potter?” Augusta asked in a businesslike manner.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Harry replied, passing her the vial.

 

Taking it and removing the stopper, she looked to Draco. “Add your blood, if you would, Mister Malfoy,” she instructed briskly.

 

Draco made a small cut on his hand and held it over the cauldron, allowing his blood to dribble into the potion. At the same time, August gently added Hermione’s.

 

“Everyone take one step back, please,” Augusta ordered.

 

The rest of the party moved away cautiously as the potion began to bubble and steam. Leaning forward, Augusta peeked over the rim and smiled triumphantly. “It would appear we have been successful,” she announced.

 

Everyone crowded forward again to look. The two streams of blood were swirling around each other, curling and weaving in and out. Suddenly, they sank beneath the surface of the potion and the liquid shimmered, gradually changing to the royal purple colour the elder witch had earlier described.

 

Laughing, Theo clapped Draco, who was speechless, on the back.

 

“I never did care for these ridiculous marriage contracts, anyway,” Augusta sniffed. “Just another pointless idea thought up by ancient wizards who were far too obsessed with purity and image, thinking they knew best.”

 

Turning to Andromeda and Parkinson senior, she indicated a copy of the contract the Malfoy and Parkinson elders had signed so many years ago. “Parkinson. Andromeda. If you would place your magical signatures upon the parchment. Parkinson, you must declare as Miss Parkinson’s senior relative you unbind her from the contract. Andromeda, you must make the same declaration for Mister Malfoy.”

 

Andromeda and Parkinson senior stepped forward to to as instructed. At the same time, Augusta inserted a dropper into the potion at her elbow and drew up some of the liquid. As the two senior relatives completed their part, Augusta squeezed the bulb of the stopper over the parchment, allowing the potion to drip over the words written there.

 

With a hiss, the liquid sank into the parchment, and for a moment nothing happened. The group held their breath, waiting. Suddenly, the parchment burst into flames. In but a moment, there was nothing left of the contract but ash.

 

“It is done,” declared Augusta. “Mister Malfoy and Miss Parkinson are no longer bound by a marriage contract.”


	13. Redeemer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we're at the last chapter! I've taken a few liberties with some aspects of the canon and also the timeline of the song Draco chooses, but they are minor.
> 
> I'd like to extend a huge thank you to all the readers - everyone who has checked for updates, bookmarked, left kudos and comments, followed and recommended this story to others. Your support has meant the world to me and I'm so glad you've all joined me on this journey. Thank you all!
> 
> Shout out to my beta CourtingInsanity - you've cheered me on, given me great feedback and reassured me when I've second guessed myself - thank you!

**_The Blue Jazzist, November 18th_ **

 

_“This is a man’s world, this is a man’s world_

_But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing, without a woman or a girl...”_

 

Hermione sang mournfully into the microphone. She had always appreciated the emotion behind music and the way it could be used as a form of expression, but now she found herself using it as a form of therapy to distract herself from the swirling thoughts in her head.

 

She hadn’t talked to Harry since the previous day when he had convinced her to surrender a vial of her blood for what sounded like a hopeless endeavour. Harry had left early that morning for a mission, but having had no news prior to his departure, she could only assume she had been correct in her prediction that nothing would come of the attempt to unbind Draco from Pansy.

 

_“...Man made the cars, to take us over the road,_

_And man made the trains to carry the heavy loads…”_

 

She had spent two weeks holed up at home, claiming the weekend before that she was ill and not up to singing. Which was technically true. Her voice had been cracked and she didn’t have the motivation to draw the power from her lungs that she usually relied on when performing.

 

Completing the song, Hermione paused a moment before breaking into a less sombre number, although her heart clenched. It was a favourite of her regulars, but it had also been the song that had fatefully pulled Draco back into her life.

 

_“You had plenty money, nineteen twenty-two_

_You let other women make a fool of you…”_

 

Usually Hermione found her sets flew by, but tonight it seemed to drag at a snail’s pace. She was thankful it was a Friday and therefore not as busy in the club. She put all her effort into giving the impression she was her usual enthusiastic self, praying she would be able to keep up the act until she could escape to the security of her flat.

 

Finally, her set was finished. She stepped off the stage to the usual applause and cheers, and made her way quickly to the dressing room to change. When she emerged, she intended to claim still being under the weather and leave without her customary drink and chat with Lloyd and the other staff. She just didn’t feel chatty. And besides, she was worried they would ask after Draco, which would be very awkward.

 

She couldn’t exactly tell them about the magical contract - though the ex-girlfriend supposedly being back on the scene would be a reasonable enough, non-magical, explanation for his absence.

 

Sighing, Hermione continued out to the main bar, fully intending to go straight home. The truth was, she didn’t want anyone to know there was anything wrong. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t  like they had a future together.

 

Abruptly changing her mind, Hermione headed to the bar. _Screw it,_ she thought. _I need a drink._ Sitting down at the bar, she caught Lloyd’s eye and asked for her usual, minus the coke.

 

Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay, Hermione?” he asked.

 

She nodded in response and took a gulp of her drink. “It’s just been a tough week at work,” she fibbed.

 

Lloyd nodded in understanding. “I hear ya. Sometimes it’s just one thing after another and a drink is the only thing that fixes it.” The bartender paused before asking, “How’s Draco? I haven’t seen him tonight.”

 

“Oh. Um.” Hermione desperately tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t invite further questions. _Why_ hadn’t she gotten her story straight before coming out?

 

“Draco has been called away with work,” she said after a moment. “He’s been absent since the beginning of the month.” _That was a rubbish lie and he’ll see right through it,_ she chided herself.

 

But, thankfully, Lloyd seemed to buy her excuse. “That’s too bad,” he commisserated. “I hope it doesn’t keep him away for too much longer.”

 

“Me too.” She sighed.

 

Honestly, a part of her _did_ want to see Draco. But as far as she knew, he would have to eventually marry Pansy. Besides, the fact he had never mentioned it was still a huge breach of trust. Hermione couldn’t stand being deceived. And, though she was loath to admit it, her pride was severely wounded after being confronted by Pansy in such a manner. It had made her question her self-worth as well as feeling like a fool for thinking Draco had cared for her at all.

 

Noticing her glass was empty, Hermione signalled to Lloyd for a refill. _Maybe I’ll just sit here and get drunk,_ she thought to herself.

 

For the next half hour, she sat quietly on the stool. She finished her second drink and had just started on a third when a hesitant voice at her elbow asked, “Hermione?”

 

Turning, vision slightly fuzzy from the undiluted alcohol, she regarded the man beside her.

 

“Theo? What are you doing here?”

 

* * *

 

By the time the contract had vapourised in a spectacular burst of flames it had gotten late, too late for Draco to do anything about his situation until the following day. However, the next morning when Theo had encouraged him to try and make things right with Hermione, Draco had been too fearful she would still reject him.

 

“You didn’t see the look on her face, Theo,” Draco lamented. “She trusted me and I broke that trust.”

 

“But it didn’t even occur to you that the contract was still enforceable!” Theo argued.

 

“I still should have thought of it.” Draco sighed.

Picking up his guitar, which he hadn’t touched since the whole debacle had began, he began tuning the instrument. Once the sound was to his satisfaction, he laid it beside him and picked up a portable CD player and headphones he had purchased not long after he had begun taking guitar lessons. It was Dan who had suggested he purchase a CD player set and some disks so he could listen to how other artists played.

 

Now, with the voices of guilt and self-loathing momentarily silenced with the ending of the contract, Draco felt a need to soothe himself with music. He selected a case bearing the name _American IV: The Man Comes Around_ and carefully loaded the disk while Theo watched on curiously.

 

“Is that one of those... CV players?” he asked.

 

“I believe it’s a _CD_ player,” Draco corrected. His lips quirked slightly in amusement at being the one to correct Theo on something muggle-related, for once. “The muggle who has been teaching me to play suggested it. He said I could expand my skill by listening to the way artists play and trying it myself.”

 

Draco pushed the ’play’ button and donned the headphones. The first track was fast and upbeat. The singer had a gravelly, mature voice that was nonetheless very pleasing to listen to. The song finished and after a pause, the second track began. He stilled as he listened to the opening chords. They were very different to the previous song.

 

As Cash began to sing, Draco felt a wild surge of emotion. The words were full of _pain_ . Of regret. The lyrics were _speaking_ to him, articulating the thoughts and feelings that had been plaguing him since the rift had opened between himself and Hermione.

As soon as the song had finished Draco hit the ‘back’ button so he could listen again, picking up his guitar and attempting to mimic the chords he could hear. When the song faded out a second time, he hit the back button once more. It was imperative he taught himself to play the tune and learn the lyrics. With it, he might just be able to say to Hermione in song what his words alone could not.

 

* * *

  


“Hey, Hermione. Can we talk?”

 

Hermione regarded Theo carefully and with slight trepidation. Clearly, he was here because of Draco. Was he going to be the one to let her down, tell her the contract was still in force and that the marriage to Pansy was going ahead.

 

“Do I want to hear what you have to say, Theo?” she asked him quietly.

 

“I don’t know,” Theo admitted. “But I really would appreciate it if you would just hear me out. You can decide for yourself what to do afterwards.”

 

Hermione seriously considered saying no, but she couldn’t ignore the morbid sense of curiosity she felt. As well as curiosity, she felt both a nervous fear and… was it _hope_? No. The last things she needed was to get her ridiculous hopes up, just to be shot down once again. She opened her mouth to tell Theo to piss off and leave her to drown her sorrows alone.

 

“Okay,” was what came out, to her surprise.

 

“What are you drinking?” Theo nodded to the glass in her hand.

 

“Whiskey… but I’m not sure I should be having more.”

 

Theo made eye contact with Lloyd, who came over to take his order. “Three whiskeys.”

 

The bartender reached silently for a bottle and poured the drinks before leaving them alone again. Looking around to ensure no one else was within earshot or watching them, Theo cast a _muffilatio_ so they wouldn’t be overheard.

 

“Has Potter updated you in regards to the unbinding attempt?” he asked, getting straight to the point.

 

Hermione shook her head. “He got called away first thing this morning on an investigation. I haven’t heard anything about it.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, and gulped a mouthful of the amber liquid in her glass. “It didn’t work, did it?” she guessed sadly, looking down at her drink. “You’re here to try and let me down gently.” Snorting, she added, “Don’t feed me any crap about how _sorry_ you are, please. I would find it insulting.”

 

When Theo didn’t reply immediately, she glanced warily up at him. He was staring at her with a funny look on his face.

 

“See something green, do you?” she muttered.

 

“Green? No.” Theo frowned in confusion, not understanding the phrase.

 

“I’m sorry, Theo,” Hermione sighed. “The last two weeks have been rather trying.”

 

“I understand that. Draco hasn’t been doing too well, himself. He misses you, you know.”

 

“I find that a little hard to believe, given he didn’t see fit to tell me about being party to an arranged marriage at any point. That’s a fact I would expect one to disclose prior to becoming involved with another,” Hermione griped.

 

“Hermione, he _truly_ thought it was no longer of any consequence!” Theo insisted. “He assumed his parents and Pansy’s had formally dissolved the contract.”

 

“You’re certain he didn’t know it was still in force?” Hermione was skeptical. “How could anyone _possibly_ not know for sure their marital status?”

 

“That’s just the way these things work for purebloods,” Theo tried to explain. “It’s complicated. When it comes to arranged marriages, children of pureblood families get very little say in what will happen in their lives. Their parents make all the decisions and arrangements, and the children must simply go along with it. Questioning or challenging the parents is not welcomed.”

 

Hermione thought back to what Draco had once told her about being beaten by his father when he displeased the man. “Malfoy—Draco— described once how Lucius used to beat him if his grades were below mine,” she recalled.

 

“Lucius was a particularly cruel man.” Theo’s face darkened at the memory. “My father was similarly sadistic.”

 

Hermione’s face softened and she placed a hand over Theo’s. “I’m truly sorry you were subjected to such violent treatment by someone who was supposed to protect and care for you.”

 

Smiling, Theo shook his head. “It’s okay. He’s dead and I’m determined not to repeat his mistakes.”

 

Pausing before looking her in the eye, Theo stated, “The unbinding was successful, Hermione.”

 

“It—what?” she stuttered. “ _How_?” Picking up her glass, she drained the last of the whiskey.

 

“Did Potter not even explain how the potion was supposed to work?” Theo asked incredulously as he passed her another glass before finishing the one he held in his own hand.

 

Hermione blushed, thankful Theo probably wouldn’t have noticed in the dim lighting over the bar.

 

“He tried. To be honest, I didn’t want to hear any details. I was sure it wouldn’t work.”

 

“Well, it did. The potion involved blood magic. Your blood and his were combined to test your compatibility. A positive result was the only way to successfully unbind Draco and Pansy.”

 

“So what does this mean?” Hermione asked hesitantly. Her heart began to thrum.

 

“It means you and Draco are better suited to each other than he and Pansy are.”

 

“I want to believe that, Theo, I do.” Hermione sighed. “But I’ll need some time to trust him again. I appreciate he truly didn’t think to mention it, but the way it was delivered really struck a blow.”

 

“It struck a blow with him, too,” Theo countered. “He was a mess after you rejected him when he tried to explain.”

 

Hermione winced. That stung. “I hope you’re not trying to blame me!” she bit out.

 

“I’m not at all!” Theo replied defensively. His voice softening, he added. “I’ve been staying at the manor since it happened, keeping an eye on him.”

 

“Surely he wasn’t that incapable,” Hermione snorted.

 

“The night he tried to see you, he got paralytically drunk and—” Theo stopped suddenly, causing Hermione to stare at him suspiciously.

 

“And…?” she prompted.

 

“He tried to jump from one of the highest towers at the manor,” Theo finished heavily.

 

“He _what_?” Hermione gasped in horror. “You can’t be serious. Did he tell you this?”

 

“No.” Theo shook his head grimly. “Pria came to me for help. She tried to stop him and he ordered her away, leaving her powerless. I got there just in time to stop him.”

 

Hermione paled. “But how—why—”

 

“He was ready to give up,” Theo explained softly. He had lost you, and he was facing the very real possibility of being bound to a witch he didn’t want. He felt he was out of options.”

 

“And where is he now?” Hermione asked fearfully. “Is he all right?”

 

“He’s at the manor, and better now that he’s no longer bound to Pansy. But he won’t be whole without you.”

 

“Shouldn’t he be the one telling me this?” she pointed out.

 

“He was worried you would refuse to see him,” Theo replied. “He asked me if I would try and convince you to come back to the manor to talk to him.”

 

Hermione suddenly felt nervous. “I—I don’t know. I want to, but—” she took another gulp of her drink and swayed slightly on her stool.

 

“ _Please_ , Hermione. Come back to the manor.”

 

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Draco paced nervously, and glanced at his watch for what felt like the thousandth time since Theo had left an hour ago. _Merlin’s balls!_ he cursed inwardly. It had only been two minutes since he had last checked.

 

He had spent the whole day practicing the song he had chosen, the one he hoped would catch Hermione’s attention long enough so that she might hear him out. Having always been a quick learner, Draco was confident that he knew every chord and all the lyrics by heart.

 

The plan was simple. Send Theo to The Blue Jazzist on his behalf, find Hermione, and attempt to convince her to accompany him back to the manor. Draco believed that would be the hardest part, but it was also the one factor the rest of his plan hinged upon. If she refused, Draco didn’t know what he would do.

 

Theo had readily agreed to advocate for Draco, although the blond wizard strongly suspected a great part of his friend’s motivation was spurred by the desire to escape the repeated playing and singing he had been subjected to for so many hours.

 

“What I wouldn’t do for a drink,” Draco muttered to himself.

 

“Pria!” he called.

 

She popped into the room. “Master calls for Pria?” she asked hopefully.

 

Draco smiled, although his gut twinged with guilt. He had put the loyal elf through a great deal of pain these last two weeks, and burned with shame at how cold he had been to her. And Theo, for that matter. And, of course, Hermione. He desperately hoped that one day she could forgive him.

 

“Pria, can you fetch me something to drink? Some elf wine, perhaps?”

 

The elf looked at him warily. “Master is not supposed to be having alcohols,” she reminded him.

 

“I know, Pria. I know. I don’t want a lot, and I _promise_ you I won’t do anything rash. I’m just so nervous. I don’t know if Theo will succeed in convincing Hermione to come to the manor, and even then, I can’t guarantee she’ll listen. I just need something small to ease my nerves.” He looked pleadingly at her. “ _Please,_ Pria?”

 

Pria’s large ears had picked up at the mention of Hermione. “Miss Hermie comes?” she asked hopefully.

 

“I’m not sure,” Draco replied. “It all hinges on Theo.”

 

“And Master promises he will not tries to hurt himselfs?” Pria checked.

 

“I give you permission to stop me if I do,” Draco promised.

Pria thought for a moment before nodding. “Pria will give Master one glass of elfs wine. But _only_ one.”

 

“Thank you, Pria.” Draco sighed gratefully.

 

Pria snapped her fingers and a goblet appeared on the table. Draco picked it up with a slightly shaking hand and took a mouthful, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of the wine seep into his body.

 

As Draco was finishing the wine, he heard the pop of apparition, followed by voices. His heart began to beat so hard he thought it might simply burst from the strain, and his stomach twisted in knots.

 

“Pria, please go and greet our guests,” Draco instructed as he sat on the couch and picked up his guitar.

 

“Yes, Master,” she replied excitedly.

 

Draco took a deep breath and began to play.

  


Hermione and Theo arrived in the foyer of the manor, Theo having side-along apparated the curly haired witch due to her slight inebriation.

 

Moments after she had steadied herself, Pria arrived in front of her, bouncing excitedly.

 

“Miss Hermie, you is back! Pria is so happy to see you! We has missed you so much!”

 

Hermione gave a wobbly smile at the greeting. She really _did_ love the little elf. Bending down, she embraced her gently.

 

“I’ve missed you too, Pria.”

 

Theo coughed quietly. “I’m going to go upstairs,” he said. “Go easy on him, will you?”

 

Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed to the stairs.

 

Hermione stood, then stilled. She could hear music playing. A guitar - was it Draco?

 

Moments later, she heard him begin to sing in a voice that was low and clear. Curious, she moved slowly in the direction of the sound, which was coming from the sitting room they had frequented often. She stopped just beyond the doorway to listen as he began the chorus.

 

_“What have I become_

_My sweetest friend?_

_Everyone I know_

_Goes away in the end.”_

Hermione’s throat tightened as she stepped through the entrance to the room. He was sitting on the couch, concentrating on the song he was playing. Playing for _her._

 

_“And you could have it all_

_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down_

_I will make you hurt.”_

 

She moved to one of the armchairs, sitting slowly. Her eyes never left him as he continued into the next verse.

 

_“I wear my crown of thorns_

_Upon my liar’s chair_

_Full of broken thoughts_

_I cannot repair.”_

 

Hermione was suddenly aware of the silent tears that were staining her cheeks. His voice, the words, were full of sadness. Of pain and despair, of _loss_. Her heart clenched to see him so broken. How could she possibly continue to deny him? How could she ever have denied him in the first instance?

 

She sat through the song until it had finished. Only then did he look up at her, his grey eyes full of emotion.

 

“Draco…” she whispered.

 

“Hermione…” he replied softly. “Please, please forgive me. I should have checked whether the contract had been undone. I should have thought of it when I first began courting you, but to be honest, all I could see was you and nothing else. From the moment I heard you sing that first time in the club, even before I knew who you were.”

 

Placing the guitar beside him, Draco crossed the room so he was crouching in front of her, and took her limp hands in his. “Even that first time, when I was pissed out of my brain and didn’t know what was going on, your voice was the one thing that broke through the fog and called to me. When I found out you were the singer, my world changed in that moment.”

 

“Draco, I...” Hermione started to stammer an apology, but he held up a hand to stop her, staring meaningfully into her eyes.

 

“I saw you and I _knew._ In that moment, I cared nothing for status, or propriety, or the opinions of others. All I wanted to do was to have a chance to get to know you properly, and to compensate for the truly cruel way I had treated you in school.”

 

Draco took a deep breath. “Hermione. You are my everything. I love you, and I beg your forgiveness.”

 

Hermione sobbed. “I...I...” unable to speak, she did the only thing she could think of. She threw her arms around Draco’s shoulders, and embraced him tightly.

 

* * *

 

**_October 2003_ **

 

“Draco, there’s no one here,” Hermione observed, frowning, as he escorted her into The Charming Tiger.

 

“I should hope not,” Draco murmured. “I booked out the whole restaurant, just for us. It’s been a year since we started dating, and I’d rather have you all to myself tonight.”

 

Looking around, Hermione noted the lights were dimmed and candles had been lit around the room, giving it a warm and intimate glow. She smiled and rolled her eyes playfully at him.

 

“Good evening, Miss Hermione and Mister Draco!” Nakim sang, coming forward from behind the front counter. “Please, come! Sit!” He gestured to the empty room with a conspiratorial grin.

 

Draco led Hermione to a table in the centre and pulled her chair out before seating himself. Moments later, Nakim was at their sides with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the house!” he beamed and he presented the label.

 

“Nakim! That’s so kind. Thank you!” Hermione smiled, touched at the gesture.

 

“May I pour for you?” he asked.

 

The couple nodded, and Nakim unwrapped the foil, popping the cork with a flourish before expertly filling their glasses.

 

“What will you be having this evening?” the waiter asked, pen and paper at the ready.

 

“Can we get the banquet platter again?” Draco asked Hermione, grinning.

 

“I was just going to suggest that, myself!” She laughed.

 

“One banquet platter, coming up!” Nakim headed briskly back to the kitchen to place their order.

 

While they waited, Hermione and Draco chatted easily and sipped on the champagne.

 

The food quickly arrived, and they dug in eagerly. This time, the heat of the curries didn’t make Draco gasp or splutter. He had become a regular patron, along with Hermione, and was now quite the curry connoisseur.

 

“So how is the first term of the new year going?” Draco asked, once they had gotten part way through their meal.

 

True to Minerva’s word, an official letter advising Hermione of Professor Binns’ retirement and inviting her to apply for the soon-to-be-vacant position of History of Magic Professor had arrived by owl in late November of the previous year.

 

Hermione had been shocked, but after the initial surprise and trepidation had worn off she had been beside herself with excitement. “I’ll be able to use the library again!” She had sighed happily.

 

Draco had laughed at this, and kissed her soundly. “I hope you won’t spend so much time in there that you forget to teach your students,” he teased.

 

“I would _never_ neglect my duties as a professor!” she gasped in outrage. “I’ll only use the library in my spare time, of course, and—” she stopped as she realised Draco had only been making fun, and gave him a firm smack on the arm.

 

“Cheeky ferret!” she growled.

 

She had begun teaching officially at the end of the Christmas holidays, and now, nearly a year into her role, Hermione had really found her niche. Kingsley had been very sorry to lose her, but had wished her all the best, and continued to occasionally seek her advice or input on Ministry matters.

 

“It’s been very busy,” Hermione smiled, responding to Draco’s question. “I’ve already begun prepping the fifth years for their O.W.Ls and the seventh years for their N.E.W.Ts. I’ve also made a few small changes to Cuthbert’s lesson plans to make it more engaging, and to better help muggle-borns understand the magical world they’ve been introduced to.”

 

“Bit early to be preparing them for their exams, isn’t it?” Draco sniped.

 

“Absolutely not!” Hermione responded vehemently. “It’s _never_ too early to begin making a study plan and thinking about what they will need to know at the end of the year!”

 

“Whatever you say, love.” Draco laughed. Delicately wiping his mouth, he excused himself. “I’ve just got to pop to the restroom.”

 

Hermione nodded and went back to her meal, smiling. She didn’t notice Draco approach Ravi, who had emerged from the kitchen, and whisper to him as he handed the chef something, nor did she see how Ravi grinned and clapped Draco on the shoulder.

 

When he returned to his seat, he and Hermione continued to discuss Hogwarts, the students and staff as they finished the champagne. Hermione giggled at all the times she would tease Snape about the casual way Horace conducted potions lessons. She did have to admit Slughorn was not nearly as skilled as the former head of Slytherin, but the students were certainly less fearful of their forays into the dungeons.

 

Once they had finished eating, Nakim came to collect their plates and ask if they would like any dessert or coffee.

 

“Just coffee for me, thanks,” Hermione smiled.

 

“Make that two,” Draco paused to think before adding, “Actually, I would really love to try the mango ice cream also, please.”

 

“Coming right up.” Nakim left with the dishes expertly balanced on his arm. Several minutes later, her returned with a coffee pot and the bowl of ice cream. He placed it carefully in front of Draco, turning to wink at Hermione as he poured their drinks.

 

Draco picked up the spoon and carefully scooped up a small bite, bringing it to his mouth. “It’s wonderful.” he stated. “Try some!”

 

“I couldn’t! I’m so full!” Hermione demurred.

 

“Just one bite,” Draco prompted. “I promise you’ll love it.”

 

Draco pushed the bowl toward her, turning it as he did so.

 

Hermione looked at the dish and gasped. Resting on a small wafer, so as to prevent it from getting sticky, was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen.

 

Reaching out carefully, she picked it up and examined it. It was made of white gold, with a large green emerald in the centre, surrounded by tiny rubies. _Slytherin green and Gryffindor red,_ she thought to herself.

 

“Draco.. Is this…?” she whispered.

 

Suddenly, he was on one knee at her side.

 

“Hermione. You are my shining light. You’ve made me a better person. This past year with you has been the best one of my life, and I pray that you will make my future years even happier by agreeing to marry me.”

 

She nodded, smiling through happy tears. “Yes,” she whispered.

 

Draco took the ring and placed it reverently on her finger. They shared a passionate kiss amid applause and cheers from Ravi and Nakim, who of course had been in on the whole scheme.

 

* * *

 

**_October 2004_ **

 

Draco paced nervously in his bedroom. It was nearly time. After all this careful planning, after all the arguments and negotiations, the day he and Hermione would be bound in marriage was finally here.

 

He stopped suddenly, a chill sliding down his back as he suddenly became certain she would not appear, leaving him stranded and alone. Certain she would have come to a realisation that she was quite mad to have considered tying herself to him. Shit.

 

“Draco.”

 

The blond wizard turned to face his old friend. “Theo. She won’t come. I just know it.”

 

Theo sighed and shook his head. Crossing the room, he placed his hands firmly on Draco’s shoulders and looked into his eyes.

 

“She _will_ come, Draco. And before you try to argue, I spoke to Ginny not twenty minutes ago. Hermione is getting ready, and is probably just as nervous as you, but she _will_ be there.”

 

“There’s no way she’s as nervous as me,” scoffed Draco with a wry smile. “She’s never had to worry I’ll change my mind about wanting to be with her.”

 

“Okay, maybe she’s not _quite_ as wracked with jitters as you  are,” Theo conceded with a chuckle. “How about a quick toast before we get into position?”

 

Draco nodded gratefully. “Pria!” The elf appeared immediately and snapped her fingers. Two glasses with a finger of firewhiskey in each appeared on the small vanity where Draco’s cufflinks were waiting.

 

“Thanks, Pria,” Draco smiled. He reached for the cufflinks - silver serpents with small green emeralds for eyes - with hands that shook slightly.

 

Theo took the adornments from his friend’s hand. “Wrists up,” he instructed.

 

Draco obediently extended his hands so Theo could attach the cufflinks. “What would I have done without you, Theo?” he asked softly.

 

“I hate to think,” Theo said wryly. Picking up the glasses, he handed one to Draco. “Your health,” he toasted. The men clinked glasses and drank.

 

Abruptly, Draco pulled Theo into an embrace. “Thank you,” he said.

 

Theo returned the gesture before pulling away and smirking. “Don’t go soft on me now, Malfoy,” he teased. Checking his watch, he said, “It’s time. Let’s get out there.”

 

Draco nodded and they walked out of the room together.

 

Standing under an arch a few minutes later, waiting for the cue that would signal Hermione’s arrival, Draco surveyed the crowd in front of him and reflected on the journey that had led him here since he had proposed to Hermione a year previously.

 

They had had some fantastic arguments over the details. Hermione had wanted a small, private, intimate affair with only a few close friends; while Draco had insisted they needed to acknowledge the other old wizarding families and upper echelons of society by extending an invite to them - it was just the way things were done.

 

She had wanted to have something simple and practical; he had insisted on extravagance and an ostentatious display.

 

She would have been happy to hold the ceremony in the ministry offices; he insisted on the luxurious Malfoy chateau in France which also boasted a winery.

 

In the end, they had managed to come to a compromise on all matters with no lasting harm to either of them - although, during one particularly heated exchange Hermione had fired a highly effective bat-bogey hex at him. She had laughed uproariously at Draco as he flailed about with bats crawling out of his nostrils. The act had dissolved the tension and they had found themselves in a heated embrace before tumbling into bed, the argument quite forgotten.

 

Now, on their big day, their guests were gathered on the grounds of Malfoy manor instead of the chateau in France, and they had agreed upon a budget that was far lower than what Draco had been willing to spend but that Hermione still found scandalous. As for the guests, they had managed to whittle the list down from well over a thousand people to only three hundred.

 

Draco was pulled from his reminiscing by the first strains of music signalling Hermione’s entrance. All the guests stood and turned toward the aisle as she emerged and began her slow walk toward him, escorted by Richard Granger.

 

He had met her parents for the first time after they had been dating for several months, after learning that she had obliviated them both and sent them to Australia for their safety as the war began to grow in intensity. She had only undone the spell eighteen months ago, the risk to them prior to that having been too great. Although it had taken them some time to adjust, her parents had recovered surprisingly well.

 

Draco’s breath left him as his eyes drank her in. Hermione was a vision. Wearing a delicate strapless cream dress in a mermaid cut, with small jewels adorning the bodice, waist and skirt; her unruly curls piled elegantly on top of her head with small flowers weaved through the strands, he thought she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment.

 

Hermione and Richard arrived in front of him. Richard extended his hand and the two men shook solemnly. “Take good care of my daughter, young man,”  he instructed sternly.

 

“I will, sir,” Draco replied, and Richard kissed Hermione on the cheek before placing her small hand in Draco’s.

 

The couple stood beneath the arch of flowers constructed for the occasion as the officiator began the ceremony. Draco barely heard a word the man said, so lost was he in her beautiful eyes as she smiled up at him, her fingers entwined in his.

 

“Now you may exchange vows,” the officiator invited. “Mister Malfoy, you may begin.”

 

Draco took a deep breath. He had been practicing these vows for months, and was confident he could recite them in his sleep.

 

“Hermione. Your voice called out to me in the darkness and pulled me into the light. I was drowning, but your light guided me gently toward the surface. You have shown me how to be a better man, and helped me to forgive myself for my past and look toward my future. You are kind, loving and clever. The lioness is fierce and brave, and so are you. I have never known you to back down from a challenge, and you fight valiantly for the people you care for and what you believe to be just. Before you came back into my life, I had known little happiness and did not expect to find any, but these last two years have created memories I shall cherish forever. I truly believe you have saved me. You are my redeemer, and I shall be forever grateful that you chose to have me be the man to stand beside you.”

 

Hermione’s eyes glistened with unshed tears at his words as she squeezed his fingers in gentle thanks.

 

“Draco,” she began. “A few years ago, I never dreamt that the man I would be bound to would be you. If someone had told me, back when you first came into my life, that I would one day wed you, I would have thought them quite mad. Yet here I stand, before you today, ready to give my heart to you, now and forever. You are charming, generous and loving. You have been my most enthusiastic supporter. I find in you a voracious debater, a thinker, someone who loves books and academics almost as much as I.” A small titter drifted over from the assembled guests at her last statement.

 

“The day you came into my life was the best day of my life, even if I did not recognise it at the time. I cannot wait to see what our future will bring, and I shall love you now and forever.”

 

“Beautiful words,” the officiator encouraged. “Now, you may exchange the rings. Following this, I will perform the binding.”

 

The officiator presented their wedding bands - his, silver with a runic pattern etched along the surface, and hers a more delicate replica of his. Reverently, Draco slid Hermione’s ring over her finger before extending his own hand so that she could do the same.

 

“If you will now clasp hands,” the officiator instructed.

 

Draco grasped Hermione’s right wrist, and she his, as the officiator began the spellwork. Similar to an unbreakable vow, the strands erupted one by one from his wand and entwined themselves around their joined arms. Red, silver and gold glowed and faded one by one.

 

“It is done, and you are bound and wed,” announced the officiator. “I present to you, Mister and Mrs Malfoy!”

 

The guests erupted into cheers and applause as Draco took his new bride in his arms and kissed her passionately.  


* * *

 

**_Christmas 2005_ **

 

Draco sat with Hermione under the christmas tree, a pile of wrapping paper scattered around them. Like small children, they had excitedly climbed out of bed early that morning, eager to open their presents.

 

Now they sat companionably together, Hermione flicking through the latest edition of the Magical Creatures Compendium which Draco had given her; while he attached the platinum watch to his wrist that she had given him.

 

Pria appeared before them holding a bottle and glasses. “Good morning, Master and Mistress! I has the champagne Master had requested!” she announced.

 

Draco grinned and looked at Hermione, his face falling as she noticed her careful expression. She usually loved a champagne breakfast. “Is everything all right, love?” he asked, worriedly.

 

“Yes, everything’s fine. But I think I’ll skip on the champagne this time.”

 

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asked, “I’ll call a healer right away!” He started to get up, but Hermione reached out a hand to stop him.

 

“No, Draco, I don’t need a healer!” She smiled. “I actually have one more gift for you. _Accio._ ”

 

A small rectangular box flew into Hermione’s hand. It was wrapped in a jade ribbon. She handed it to him and Draco took it silently, wondering what on earth it could be.

 

Opening it, he saw what looked like a small stick with a cap on the end. In the middle was a window showing two small lines. “What is it?” he asked curiously.

 

Smiling, she handed him another box, this one empty. It showed a picture of the stick on it, and was clearly a muggle object. Quickly reading the information, he dropped the package in shock, his eyes darting once again to the stick nestled in the gift she had given him.

 

“Is this—are you—does this mean…?” he stammered.

 

“Yes.” She grinned. “We’re going to have a baby.”

 

Laughing, Draco pulled Hermione into his arms and embraced her tightly, happy tears rolling down his cheeks.  


* * *

 

**_August 2006_ **

 

Draco found himself yanked forward as Hermione grasped a fistful of his shirt.

 

“I am never—” she groaned in pain, glaring at him “— _never_ doing this again!”

 

Draco felt it wise to say nothing, merely clasping her other hand in his and kissing it gently.

 

Her pregnancy had gone smoothly, and he had marveled at the way her stomach expanded over the months. He had felt their child kick within her and thought he would burst with excitement.

 

“You say that now, ‘Mione,” came an amused voice beside him. “But you may find yourself changing your mind later on. I also said I wasn’t going to go through another birth, but here I am having just popped out number two!” Ginny Potter had given birth to her and Harry’s second son, Albus, just two months previously.

 

“Bollocks, Ginny!” Hermione gasped with clenched teeth. “Never—” she groaned again as another contraction hit her.

 

Several hours later, Hermione was in the final stages of labour. “One more push should do it, Mrs Malfoy,” the mediwitch encouraged.

 

With a determined cry, Hermione did as she was bid. Moment later, an infant’s cries penetrated the room. The mediwitch quickly conducted the usual checks to ensure the child’s health, then swaddled the newborn and passed the small bundle to Draco.

 

“Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Malfoy,” she smiled. “You have a son.”

 

Draco beamed down at the tiny form in his arms. “Hello, Scorpius,” he whispered.  


* * *

 

**_September 2017_ **

 

“Dad, why can’t I go to Hogwarts?” whined a small voice.

 

Draco looked down at his youngest son, Aurelian. “We’ve had this discussion,” he said quietly, crouching down to look into his son’s chocolate brown eyes. “You’ll attend school when you turn eleven. It’s not that far away.”

 

“It’s ages away,” his son pouted.

 

“Aurey, darling, sometimes we just have to wait,” added Hermione. “It’s hard, but nothing more can be done.”

 

“I know.” He sighed.

 

As Ginny had predicted, Hermione changed her mind about further children once she had recovered from Scorpius’ birth and adjusted to motherhood, and Aurelian had completed their little family two years later.

 

“Hey, Malfoy, ‘Mione,” greeted a voice beside him.

 

Draco stood to face Harry Potter, accompanied by Ginny, with James and Albus in tow. Ginny’s belly was swollen with their impending third child, due in a few weeks’ time.

 

“Hey, Potter, Potterette,” Draco grinned.

 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ginny growled good naturedly.

 

Smiling and turning to Scorpius, she asked him, “Are you excited to start school, Scorp?”

 

“Kinda,” Draco’s oldest son replied. “But I won’t really know many people. And what if the hat puts me in the wrong house?”

 

“Or me?” Interjected Albus, worriedly.

 

Harry turned, smiling, to the two boys. “The hat will put you in the right house,” he reassured them. “And besides, it will always take what you want into account. Do you know, when I had my sorting, the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin?”

 

“Really?” gasped Scorpius. “What did you do?”

 

“I told it I didn’t want to be in Slytherin.” Harry shrugged. “So it put me in Gryffindor instead.”

 

Scorpius nodded, reassured. “Thanks, Mr Potter, Mrs Potter.”

 

“Well, well. If it isn’t a certain blond prat,” came a teasing voice behind Draco.

 

He turned to greet Ron Weasley. Lavender clutched his arm, and their children Rose and Hugo stood in front of them.

 

“Hello, Weasel,” Draco drawled.

 

The men grinned at each other companionably.

 

The small group gathered together as the crowd bustled around them, exchanging greetings and small talk.

 

“The train will be leaving soon,” Hermione advised, checking the clock above the platform before turning to her eldest son. “Have you got everything?”

 

“Yes, Mum,” Scorpius nodded.

 

Turning to his parents, Scorpius embraced Draco tightly. “I’ll miss you, Dad,” he said softly.

 

“I’ll miss you too, son.” Draco smiled. “I’m sure your mother will owl me tonight and give me a full report on how the sorting ceremony went.”

 

Hermione was still teaching History of Magic, and enjoying it as much as she had when she first began her position. Her and Draco initially found it difficult sometimes being apart, as Hermione’s duties meant she had to remain at the school several nights a week, but after a number of years they had settled into a routine and adjusted nicely.

 

The train whistle blew, signalling the impending departure, and there was a sudden flurry of activity as families scrambled to say their final goodbyes and conduct last-minute checks on belongings and bags before the students began boarding.

 

Scorpius embraced his father a final time. “See you at Christmas, Scorp,” Draco smiled.

 

“Owl me and tell me all about it,” begged Aurelian.

 

“I will, little brother,” Scorpius reassured him.

 

“Come on, Scorp. Let’s find a seat!” Albus Potter spoke up excitedly.

 

Arms companionably about each other’s shoulders, the two boys made their way over to the carriages.

 

Draco turned to Hermione. “I guess we’ll see you in a few days,” he smiled. The beginning of the year was always a busy time, and Hermione rarely had a moment to visit in that first week.

Hermione bent down to hug Aurelian goodbye and kiss his cheek then stood to face Draco. They shared an embrace and a kiss before she followed the students onto the train, giving a final wave goodbye to everyone assembled.

 

As the train pulled out of the station, students waving at their families, Draco felt a bittersweet emotion build in his chest. Feeling a comforting hand on his shoulder, he turned to face Harry.

 

“It does get easier,” the bespectacled wizard reassured him.

 

“It really does,” agreed Ron.

 

“I hope so.” Draco sighed. “The house will seem so quiet.”

 

“Believe me!” Ginny laughed. “You’ll begin to appreciate the peace.”

 

“Mum, can Aurey come to our place?” Hugo begged, turning to Lavender. “It’s going to be so boring without Rose.”

 

“Can, I dad?” Aurelian turned pleadingly to Draco.

 

“Fine with me if it’s ok with Lavender and Ron,” Draco shrugged.

 

Lavender nodded. “All right. Just don’t go breaking anything.”

 

“Come on,” Harry invited. “Let’s us blokes go the the leaky for a pint. Ron, you coming?”

 

“Definitely.” Ron nodded enthusiastically.

 

Draco grinned and farewelled his youngest son, cautioning him to behave, before moving away with the two men he had in his youth considered enemies, but now considered friends.  


* * *

 

**_October 2029_ **

 

“Happy anniversary!”

 

Hermione gasped and Draco laughed as they stepped through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron.

 

“Surprise,” the blond wizard smirked, kissing his wife’s fingers lovingly.

 

The room was full of their friends and acquaintances. The Weasleys were there, as well as the Potters, and Theo and Blaise with their families.

 

Kingsley shacklebolt was in attendance, as were all the professors from Hogwarts. Andromeda and Teddy were beaming from a corner, and of course Scorpius and Aurelian, now grown, were front and centre.

 

“Draco! Did you—” Hermione was speechless.

 

“It’s our twenty-fifth anniversary, love,” Draco murmured. “It’s a perfect excuse for a party.”

 

Hermione laughed. “Sneaky snake,” she teased, kissing him softly.

 

“Always,” snarked Draco, leading her further into the room where a cake and huge feast stood waiting.

 

As the crowd enveloped them, offering congratulations, hugs and handshakes, Draco looked back on the years he and Hermione had shared so far. His life now was perfect, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was still as grateful for her as he had been on the day she had agreed to marry him, and he looked to their future years together with anticipation and hope.

 

Hermione truly was Draco’s shining redeemer, and he would be forever in awe of the witch by his side.

  
  


_The end._


End file.
